'* '  The  Flames,  gov'nor  —  the  blinkin',  frozen  flames!' " 


THE  RIDDLE  OF  THE 
FROZEN  FLAME 


By 

Mary  E.  and  Thomas  W.  Hanshew 


I  L  L  U  S  T  K  A  T  i:  D 

BY 
WALT  E  R    D  E    M  A  K  I  8 


KX   OITV  NEW  YOUK 

DOUBLE DAY,    PAGE   &   COMPANY 
1920 


COPYRIGHT,   IP20,  P,T 
DOUBLEDAY,  PACK  *  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  TJIK  SCANDINAVIAN 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  The  Law 3 

II.  The  Frozen  Flames 13 

III.  Sunshine  and  Shadow     ....  23 

IV.  An  Evil  Genius 31 

V.  The  Spectre  at  the  Feast      ...  39 

VI.  A  Shot  in  the  Dark 52 

VII.  The  Watcher  in  the  Shadow      .      .  60 

VIII.  The  Victim 68 

IX.  The  Second  Victim 76 

X.  —And  the  Lady 84 

XI.  The  Secret  of  the  Flames           .      .  91 

XII.  "  As  a  Thief  in  the  Night— "     .      .  102 

XIII.  A  Gruesome  Discovery         .      .      .  109 

XIV.  The  Spin  of  the  Wheel    ....  122 
XV.  A  Startling  Disclosure     ....  131 

XVI.  Trapped! 139 

XVII.  In  the  Cell 149 

XVIII.  Possible  Excitement        .      .      .      .  158 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX.  What  Took  Place  at  "The  Pig  and 

Whistle" 16!) 

XX.  At  the  Inquest 182 

XXI.  Questions — and  Answers       .      .      .  197 

XXII.  A  New  Departure 207 

XXIII.  Prisoners 219 

XXIV.  In  the  Dark                 229 

XXV.  The  Web  of  Circumstance   .      .      .  244 

XXVI.  Justice — and  Justification    .      .      .  253 

XXVII.  The  Solving  of  the  Riddle    .      .      .  268 

XXVIII.  "  Toward  Morning  ..."  282 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"'The  Flames,  gor'nor — the    blinkin'    Frozen 

Flames !": Frontispiece 

FACING   FAGL 

"For  one  terrible,  glorious  moment  he  had  held 

her  in  his  arms" 20 

'"You  little  white-livered  sneak,'  he  said  in  a 

deep,  rumbling  voice" 44 

"'Nigel!     My  poor,  poor  Nigel!'"   ....     156 


OTHER  CLEEK  BOOKS 


deck's  Government 

Cleek,  the  Man  of  Forty  Faces 

Cleek,  The  Master  Detective 

Cleek  of  Scotland  Yard 

Riddle  of  the  Night,  The 

Riddle  of  the  Purple  Emperor,  TJie 


THE  RIDDLE  OF  THE 
FROZEN   FLAME 


The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 
CHAPTER    I 

THE    LAW 

MR.  MAVERICK  NARKOM,  Superin 
tendent  of  Scotland  Yard,  sat  before  the 
litter  of  papers  upon  his  desk.  His  brow 
was  puckered,  his  fat  face  red  with  anxiety,  and 
there  was  about  him  the  air  of  one  who  has  reached 
the  end  of  his  tether. 

He  faced  the  man  opposite,  and  fairly  ground  his 
teeth  upon  his  lower  lip. 

"Dash  it,  Cleek!"  he  said  for  the  thirty -third 
time,  "I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it,  I  don't, 
indeed!  The  thing's  at  a  deadlock.  Hammond  re 
ports  to  me  this  morning  that  another  bank  in 
Hendon — a  little  one-horse  affair — has  been  broken 
into.  That  makes  the  third  this  week,  and  as  usual 
every  piece  of  gold  is  gone.  Not  a  bank  note  touched, 
not  a  bond  even  fingered.  And  the  thief — or 
thieves — made  as  clean  a  get-away  as  you  ever  laid 
your  eyes  on!  I  tell  you,  man,  it's  enough  to  send 
an  average  person  daft!  The  whole  of  Scotland 


4  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Yard's  been  on  the  thing,  arid  we  haven't  traced  'em 
yet!  What  do  you  make  of  it,  old  chap?" 

"As  pretty  a  kettle  of  fish  as  I  ever  came  across,"' 
responded  Cleek,  with  an  enigmatic  smile.  "And  I 
can't  help  having  a  sneaking  admiration  for  the 
person  who's  engineering  the  whole  tiling.  How  he 
must  laugh  at  the  state  of  the  old  Yard,  wilh  never  a 
clue  to  settle  down  upon,  never  a  thread  to  pick  up 
and  unravel!  All  of  which  is  unbusinesslike  of  me, 
I've  no  doubt.  But,  cheer  up,  111*111,  I've  a  piece  of 
news  which  ought  to  help  mailers  on  a  Kt.  Just 
came  from  the  War  Office,  you  know/' 

Mr.  Narkom  mopped  his  forehead  eagerly.  The 
action  was  one  which  Cleek  knew  showed  the  I  every 
nerve  was  tense. 

"Well,  out  with  it,  old  chap!  Anylhirg  1o  east 
some  light  on  the  inexplicable  thing.  What  did  you 
learn  at  the  War  Office?" 

"A  good  many  things — after  I  had  unravelled 
several  hundred  yards  of  red  tape  to  get  at  'em," 
said  Cleek,  still  smiling.  "Chief  among  them  was 
this:  Much  English  gold  has  been  discovered  in 
Belgium,  Mr.  Narkom,  in  connection  wi'h  several  big 
electrical  firms  engaged  upon  work  out  there.  The 
Secret  Service  wired  over  that  fact,  and  I  got  il  iirst 
hand.  Now  it  strikes  me  there  must  be  some  con 
nection  between  the  two  things.  These  bank 
robberies  point  in  one  direction,  and  that  is,  that  Ihe 
gold  is  not  for  use  in  this  country.  Now  let's  hear 


The  Law  5 

the  full  account  of  this  latest  outrage.     I'm  all  ears, 
as  the  donkey  said  to  the  ostrich.     Fire  away." 

Mr.  Narkom  "fired  away"  forthwith.  He  was  a 
bland,  round  little  man,  ralher  too  fat  for  one's  con 
ceptions  of  what  a  policeman  ought  to  be,  yet  with 
that  lightness  of  foot  I  hat  so  many  stout  people  seem 
to  possess. 

Cleek  presented  a  keen  contrast  to  him.  His 
broad-shouldered,  well-groomed  person  would  have 
adorned  any  company.  His  head  was  well-set  upon 
his  neck,  and  his  features  at  this  moment  were  small 
and  inclined  to  be  aquilme.  lie  had  closely  set 
ears  that  Jay  will  I;nck  agniri'  \,  his  head,  and  his 
hands  were  slim  an-..!  (-xco(.:--;higly  woll-kcpt.  Of  his 
ago-  —well  that,  like  himself,  was  an  enigma.  To-day 
he  might  have  been  anything  between  thirty-five 
and  forty — to-morrow  probably  he  would  be  looking 
nineteen.  That  was  part  of  the  peculiar  birthright 
of  the  man,  that  and  a  mobility  of  feature  which 
enabled  him  to  alter  his  face  completely  in  the  pass 
ing  of  a  second,  a  gift  which  at  least  one  notorious 
criminal  of  history  also  possessed. 

He  sat  now,  playing  with  the  silver-topped  cane 
between  his  knees,  his  head  slightly  to  one  side,  his 
whole  manner  one  of  polite  and  tolerant  interest. 
But  Mr.  Narkon  knew  that  this  same  manner  marked 
an  intensity  of  concentration  which  was  positively 
unique.  Without  more  ado  he  plunged  into  the 
details  of  his  story. 


6  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"It  happened  in  this  wise,  Cleek,"  lie  said,  tapping 
his  fountain-pen  against  his  blotter  until  little  spouts 
of  ink  fell  out  like  jet  beads.  "This  is  at  least  the 
ninth  case  of  the  kind  we've  had  reported  to  us  within 
the  space  of  the  last  fortnight.  The  first  robbery  was 
at  a  tiny  branch  bank  in  Purley,  and  the  bag 
amounted  to  a  matter  of  a  couple  of  hundred  or 
so  sovereigns;  the  second  was  at  Peckham — on  t he- 
outskirts,  you  understand;  the  third  at  Harrow;  the 
fourth  somewhere  near  Forest  Hill,  and  the  fifth 
in  Croydon.  Other  places  on  the  South  East  side  of 
London  have  come  in  for  their  share,  too,  as  for 
instance  Anerley  and  Sutton.  This  last  affair  took 
place  at  Hendon,  during  the  evening  of  Saturday 
last — the  sixteenth,  wasn't  it?  No  one  observed 
anything  untoward  in  the  least,  that  is  except  one 
witness  who  relates  how  he  saw  a  motor  car  standing 
outside  the  bank's  premises  at  half  past  nine  at 
night.  He  gave  no  thought  to  this,  as  he  probably 
imagined,  if  lie  thought  of  the  coincidence  at  all,  that 
the  manager  had  called  there  for  something  he  had 
forgotten  in  his  office." 

"And  where,  then,  does  the  manager  live,  if  not 
over  the  bank  itself?"  put  in  Cleek  at  this  juncture. 

"With  his  wife  and  family,  in  a  house  some  distance 
away.  A  couple  of  old  bank  people — a  porter  and  his 
wife  who  are  both  thoroughly  trustworthy  in  every 
way,  so  Mr.  Barker  tells  me — act  as  caretakers.  But 
they  positively  assert  that  they  heard  no  one  in  the 


The  Law  7 

place  that  niglit,  and  no  untoward  happening  oc 
curred  to  their  knowledge." 

''And  yet  the  bank  was  broken  into,  and  the  gold 
taken,"  supplemented  Cleek  quietly.  "And  what 
then,  Mr.  Narkom?  How  was  the  deed  done?" 

"Oh,  the  usual  methods.  The  skeleton  keys  of  a 
master  crook  obviously  opened  the  door  to  the 
premises  themselves,  and  soup  was  used  to  crack  the 
safe.  Everything  was  left  perfectly  neat  and  tidy 
and  only  the  bags  of  gold — --amounting  to  seven  hun 
dred  and  fifty  pounds — were  gone.  And  not  a  trace 
ol  a  clue  to  give  one  a  notion  of  who  did  the  con 
founded  thing,  or  where  they  came  from!" 

"  Hmm.     Any  finger-prints ?  " 

Mr.  Narkom  shook  his  head. 

''None.  The  thief  or  thieves  used  rubber  gloves 
to  handle  the  thing.  And  that  was  the  only  leg  given 
us  to  stand  upon,  so  to  speak.  For  rubber  gloves, 
when  they  are  new,  particularly,  possess  a  very 
strong  smell,  and  this  still  clung  to  the  door-knob  of 
the  safe,  and  to  several  objects  near  it.  That  was 
how  we  deduced  the  rubber-glove  theory  of  no 
finger-prints  at  all,  Cleek." 

"And  a  very  worthy  deduction  too,  my  friend," 
responded  that  gentleman,  with  something  of  toler 
ance  in  his  smile.  "And  so  you  have  absolutely 
nothing  to  go  by.  Poor  Mr.  Narkom!  The  path 
of  Law  and  Justice  is  by  no  means  an  easy  one  to 
tread,  is  it?  Of  course  you  can  count  upon  me  to 


8  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flume 

help  you  in  every  way.  That  goes  without  saying. 
But  I  can't  help  thinking  that  this  news  from  the 
War  Office  with  regard  to  English  gold  in  Belgium 
has  something  to  do  with  these  bank  robberies,  my 
friend.  The  two  things  seem  to  hang  together  in  my 
mind,  and  a  dollar  to  a  ducat  that  in  the  long  run 
they  identify  themselves  thus.  .  .  .  Hello!  Who's 
that?"  as  a  tap  sounded  at  the  door.  "I'll  be  off  if 
you're  expecting  visitors.  I  want  to  look  into  this 
thing  a  little  closer.  Some  time  or  other  the  thieves 
are  bound  to  leave  a  clue  behind.  Success  breeds 
carelessness,  you  know,  and  if  they  think  that  Scot 
land  Yard  is  giving  the  business  up  as  a  bad  job, 
they  won't  be  so  deuced  particular  as  to  clearing  up 
afterward.  We'll  unravel  the  thing  between  us, 
never  fear." 

"I  wish  I  could  •Iliink  so,  old  chap!"  said  Mr. 
Narkom,  a  trifle  gloomily,  as  he  cal);v-;l  "Come  in!'' 
The  door  opened  to  admit  Pelrie,  very  straight 
and  businesslike.  "But  you're  no  end  of  a  help. 
It  does  me  good  just  to  see  you.  What  is  it, 
Petrie?" 

"A  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir,"  responded  I  he 
constable  in  crisp  tones.  "A  gentleman  by  name  of 
Merriton,  Sir  Nigel  Merriton  he  said  his  name  was. 
Bit  of  a  toff  I  should  say  by  the  look  of  'ini.  And 
wants  to  see  you  partikler.  He  mentioned  3,Ir. 
Cleek's  name,  sir,  but  I  told  'im  he  wasn't  in  at  I  he 
moment.  Shall  I  show  him  up?" 


The  Law  9 

"Quite  right,  Petrie,"  laughed  Cleek,  in  recogni 
tion  of  this  act  of  one  of  the  Yard's  subordinates;  for 
everyone  was  to  do  everything  in  his  power  to  shield 
Cleek's  identity.  "I'll  slay  if  you  don't  mind,  Mr. 
Narkom.  I  happen  to  know  something  of  this 
Merriton.  A  fine  upstanding  young  man,  who,  once 
upon  a  time  was  very  great  friends  with  Miss  Lome. 
That  was  in  the  old  Hawksley  days.  Chap's  lately 
come  into  his  inheritance,  I  believe.  Uncle  dis 
appeared  some  five  or  six  years  ago  and  legal  time 
being  up,  your.g  Merriton  has  come  over  to  claim  his 
own.  The  thing  n,ac!r  a  nev,>  paper  s-cry  for  a  week 
when  il  happened,  hut  they  never  i'oimd  any  trace  of 
the  eld  man.  And  now  the  young  one  is  over  here, 
bearing  the  title,  and  I  suppose  living  as  master  of  the 
Towers — spooklike  spot  that  it  is!  Needn't  say  who 
I  am,  old  chap,  until  1  hear  a  bit.  I'll  just  shift  over 
there  by  the  window  and  read  the  news,  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"Right  you  are."  Mr.  Narkom  struggled  into  his 
coat — which  he  generally  disposed  of  during  private 
office  hours.  Then  he  gave  the  order  for  the  gentle 
man  to  be  shown  in  and  Petrie  disappeared  forth 
with. 

But  during  the  time  which  intervened  before 
Merriton's  arrival,  Cleek  did  a  little  "altering"  in 
face  and  general  get-up,  and  when  he  did  appear 
certainly  no  one  would  have  recognized  the  aristo 
cratic  looking  individual  of  a  moment  or  two  before, 


10  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

in  an  ordinary-appearing,  stoop-shouldered,  rather 
racy -looking  tout. 

"Ready,"  said  Cleek  at  last,  and  Mr.  Narkoni 
touched  the  bell  upon  his  table.  Immediately  the 
door  opened  and  Petrie  appeared  followed  closely 
by  young  Sir  Nigel  Merriton,  whose  clean-cut  face1 
was  grim  and  whose  mouth  was  set  forbiddingly. 

And  in  this  fashion  was  Cleek  introduced  to  the 
chief  character  of  a  case  which  was  to  prove  one  of 
the  strangest  of  his  whole  career.  There  was  nothing 
about  Sir  Nigel,  a  well-dressed  man  about  town,  to 
indicate  that  he  was  to  be  the  centre  of  an  extra 
ordinary  drama,  yet  such  was  to  be  the  case. 

He  was  obviously  perturbed,  but  those  who  sought 
Mr.  Narkom's  counsel  were  frequently  agitated; 
for  no  one  can  be  even  remotely  connected  with 
crime  in  one  form  or  another  without  showing 
excitement  to  a  greater  or  lesser  degree.  And 
so  his  manner  by  no  means  set  Sir  Nigel  apart 
from  many  another  visitor  to  the  Superintendent's 
sanctum. 

Mr.  Narkom's  cordial  nod  brought  from  the  young 
man  a  demand  to  see  "Mr.  Cleek,"  of  whom  he  had 
heard  such  wonderful  tales.  Mr.  Narkoni,  with  one 
eye  on  that  very  gentleman's  back,  announced 
gravely  that  Cleek  was  absent  on  a  government  case, 
and  asked  what  he  could  do.  He  waved  a  hand  in 
Cleek's  direction  and  said  that  here  was  one  of  his 
men  who  would  doubtless  be  able  to  help  Sir  Nigel  in 


The  Law  11 

any  difficulty  he  might  happen  to  be  in  at  the  mo 
ment. 

Now,  as  Sir  Nigel's  story  was  a  long  one,  and  as 
the  young  man  was  too  agitated  to  tell  it  altogether 
coherently,  we  will  go  back  for  a  certain  space  of  time, 
and  tell  the  very  remarkable  story,  the  details  of 
which  were  told  to  Mr.  Narkom  and  his  nameless 
associate  in  the  Superintendent's  office,  and  which 
was  to  involve  Cleek  of  Scotland  Yard  in  a  case 
which  was  laler  to  receive  the  title  of  the  Riddle  of 
the  Frozen  Flame. 

Much  that  he  told  I  hem  of  his  family  history  wras 
already  known  to  Cleek,  whose  uncanny  knowledge  of 
men  and  affairs  was  a  by-word,  but  as  that  part  of  the 
story  itself  was  not  without  romance,  it  must  be 
told  too,  and  to  do  so  takes  the  reader  back  to  a  few 
months  before  his  present  visit  to  the  precincts  of  the 
Law,  when  Sir  Nigel  Merriton  returned  to  England 
after  twelve  years  of  army  life  in  India.  A  few  days 
he  had  spent  in  London,  renewing  acquaintances,  re 
visiting  places  he  knew — to  find  them  wonderfully 
little  changed — and  then  had  journeyed  to  Merriton 
Towers,  the  place  which  was  to  be  his,  due  to  the 
extraordinary  disappearance  of  his  uncle — a  dis 
appearance  which  was  yet  to  be  explained. 

Ill  luck  had  often  seemed  to  clog  the  footsteps  of 
his  house  and  even  his  journey  home  was  not  with 
out  a  mishap;  nothing  serious,  as  things  turned  out, 
but  still  something  that  might  have  been  vastly  so. 


12  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

His  train  was  in  a  wreck,  rather  a  nasty  one,  but 
Nigel  himself  had  come  out  unscathed,  and  much  to 
be  congratulated,  he  thought,  since  through  that 
wreck  he  has  become  acquainted  with  what  he  firmly 
believed  to  be  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  the  world. 
Better  yet,  he  had  learned  that  she  was  a  neighbour 
of  his  at  Merriton  Towers.  That  fact  helped  him 
through  what  he  felt  was  going  to  be  somewhat  of 
an  ordeal — his  entrance  into  the  gloomy  and  ghost  - 
ridden  old  house  of  his  inheritance. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    FROZEN    FLAMES 

m  JTERRITON  TOWERS  had  been  called  the 
^/  I  loneliest  spot  in  England  by  many  of  the 
tourists  who  chanced  to  visit  the  Fen  dis 
trict,  and  it  was  no  misnomer.  Nigel,  having  seen 
it  some  thirteen  years  before,  found  that  his  memory 
had  dimmed  the  true  vision  of  the  place  considerably; 
that  where  he  had  builded  romance,  romance  was 
not.  Where  he  had  softened  harsh  outlines,  and 
peopled  dark  corridors  with  his  own  fancies,  those 
same  outlines  had  taken  on  a  grimness  that  he  could 
luirdly  believe  possible,  and  the  long,  dark  corridors 
of  his  mind's  vision  were  longer  and  darker  and 
lonelier  than  he  had  ever  imagined  any  spot  could  be. 
It  was  a  handsome  place,  no  doubt,  in  its  gaunt, 
gray,  prisonlike  way.  And,  too,  it  had  a  moat  and  a 
miniature  portcullis  that  rather  tickled  his  boyish 
fancy.  The  furnishings,  however,  had  an  appalling 
grimness  that  took  the  very  heart  out  of  one.  Chairs 
which  seemed  to  have  grown  in  their  places  for 
centuries  crowded  the  corners  of  hallway  and  stairs 
like  gigantic  nightmares  of  their  original  prototypes. 
Monstrous  curtains  of  red  brocade,  grown  purple  with 

13 


14  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flams 

the  years,  seemed  to  hang  from  every  window  and 
door  crowding  out  the  light  and  air.  The  carpel* 
were  thick  and  dark  and  had  lost  all  sign  of  pattern. 
in  the  dull  gloom  of  the  centuries. 

It  was,  in  fact,  a  house  that  would  create  ghost.1-'. 
The  atmosphere  was  alive  with  that  strange  sen 
sation  of  disembodied  spirits  which  some  very  old 
house-,  seem  to  possess.  Narrow,  slit-like  windows 
in  perfect  keeping  with  the  architecture  and  the 
needs  of  the  period  in  which  it  was  built — if  not  with 
modern  ideas  of  hygiene  and  health — kept  the  rooms 
dark  and  imisty.  Wh*-!i  Nigel  first  entered  the  place 
through  the  great  front  door  thrown  open  by  the 
solemn-faced  butler,  who  he  learned  had  been  kept 
on  from  his  uncle's  time,  he  felt  as  though  he  were 
entering  his  own  tomb.  When  the  door  shut  he 
shuddered  as  the  light  and  sunshine  vanished. 

The  first  night  he  hardly  slept  a  wink.  His  bed 
was  a  huge  four-poster,  girt  about  with  plush  hang 
ings  like  over-ripe  plums,  that  shut  him  in  as  though 
he  were  in  some  monstrous  Victorian  trinket  box.  A 
post  creaked  at  every  turn  he  made  in  its  downy 
softnesses,  and  being  used  to  the  light,  camp-like 
furniture  of  an  Indian  bungalow  he  got  up,  took  an 
eiderdown  with  him,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  hours 
upon  a  sofa  drawn  up  beside  an  open  window. 

"That  people  could  live  in  such  places!"  he  told 
himself,  over  and  over  again.  "No  wonder  my  poor 
old  uncle  disappeared!  Any  self-respecting  Chris- 


The  Frozen  Flames  15 

tian  would.  There'll  be  some  slight  alterations  made 
i?i  Merriton  Towers  before  I'm  many  days  older,  you 
can  bet  your  life  on  that.  Old  great-grandmother 
four-poster  takes  her  conge  to-morrow  morning.  If 
I  must  live  here  I'll  sleep  anyhow." 

He  settled  himself  back  against  the  hard,  horse 
hair  sofa,  and  pulled  up  the  blind.  The  room  was 
instantly  filled  with  gray  and  lavender  shadows, 
while  without  the  Fens  stretched  out  in  unbroken 
lines  as  though  all  the  rest  of  the  world  were  made  up 
of  nothing  else.  Lonely?  Merriton  had  known  the 
loneliness  of  Indian  nights,  far  away  from  any  signs 
of  civilization:  the  loneliness  of  the  jungle  when  the 
air  was  so  still  that  the  least  sound  was  like  the  drop 
ping  of  a  bomb;  the  strange  mystical  loneliness  which 
comes  to  the  only  white  man  in  a  town  of  natives. 
But  all  these  were  as  nothing  as  compared  to  this. 
He  could  imagine  a  chap  committing  suicide  living 
in  such  a  house.  Sir  Joseph  Merriton  had  dis 
appeared  five  years  before — and  no  wonder! 

Merriton  lay  with  his  eyes  upon  the  window, 
smoking  a  cigarette,  and  surveyed  the  outlook  before 
him  with  despairing  eyes.  AYhat  a  future  for  a  chap 
in  his  early  thirties  to  face!  Not  a  sign  of  habitation 
anywhere,  not  a  vestige  of  it,  save  at  the  far  edge  of 
the  Fens  where  a  clump  of  trees  and  thick  shrubs  told 
him  that  behind  lay  Withersby  Hall.  This,  intuition 
told  him,  was  the  home  of  Antoinette  Brellier,  the  girl 
of  the  train,  of  the  wreck,  and  now  of  his  dreams. 


16  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Then  his  thoughts  turned  to  her.  Gad!  to  bring  a 
frail,  delicate  little  butterfly  to  a  place  like  this  was 
like  trying  to  imprison  a  ray  of  sunshine  in  a  leaden 
box!  .  .  . 

His  eyes,  rivetted  upon  where  the  clump  of  trees 
stood  out  against  the  semi-darkness  of  the  ap 
proaching  dawn,  saw  of  a  sudden  a  light  prick  out 
like  a  tiny  flame,  low  down  upon  the  very  edge  of  the 
Fens.  One  light,  two,  three,  and  then  a  very  host 
of  'hem  flashed  out,  as  though  some  unseen  hand  had 
tor.;  the  heavens  down  and  strewn  their  jewels  broad- 
ca.1-;  over  the  marshes.  Instinctively  lie  got  to  his 

feet.  YVhul  on  earth ?  But  even  as  his  lips 

formed  the  unspoken  exclamation  came  yet  another 
light  to  join  the  others  dancing  and  twinkling  and 
flickering  out  there  across  the  gloomy  marshlands. 

What  the  dickens  was  it,  anyhow?  A  sort  of  un 
earthly  fireworks  display,  or  some  new  explosive 
experiment?  The  dancing  flames  got  into  his  eyes 
like  bits  of  lighted  thistledown  blown  here,  there,  and 
everywhere. 

Merriton  got  to  his  feet  and  threw  open  another 
window  bottom  with  a  good  deal  of  effort,  for  the 
sashes  were  old  and  stiff.  Then,  clad  only  in  his 
silk  pyjamas,  and  with  the  cigarette  charring  itself 
to  a  tiny  column  of  gray  ash  in  one  hand,  he  leaned 
far  out  over  the  sill  and  watched  those  twinkling, 
dancing,  maddening  little  star-flames,  with  the  eyes 
of  amazed  astonishment. 


The  Frozen  Flames  17 

In  a  moment  sleep  had  gone  from  his  eyelids  and 
he  felt  thoroughly  awake.  Dashed  if  he  wouldn't 
throw  on  a  few  clothes  and  investigate.  The  thing 
was  so  strange,  so  incredible !  He  knew,  well  enough, 
from  Borkins's  (the  venerable  butler)  description 
earlier  in  the  evening,  that  that  part  of  the  marshes 
was  uninhabited.  Too  low  for  stars  the  things  were, 
for  they  hung  on  the  edges  of  the  marsh  grass  like  tiny 
lanterns  swung  there  by  fairy  hands.  In  such  a 
house,  in  such  a  room,  with  the  shadow  of  that  old 
four-poster  winding  its  long  fingers  over  him, 
Merriton  began  to  perspire.  It  was  so  devilish  un 
canny!  He  was  a  brave  enough  man  in  human 
matters,  but  somehow  these  flames  out  there  in  the 
uninhabited  stretch  of  the  marshes  were  surely 
caused  by  no  human  agency.  Co  and  investigate 
he  would,  this  very  minute!  lie  drew  in  his  head 
and  brought  the  window  down  with  a  bang  that 
went  sounding  through  the  gaunt,  deserted  old 
house. 

Hastily  he  began  to  dress,  and  even  as  he  struggled 
into  a  pair  of  tw7eed  trousers  came  the  sound  of  a  soft 
knock  upon  his  door,  and  he  whipped  round  as 
though  he  had  been  shot,  his  nerves  all  a-jingle  from 
the  very  atmosphere  of  the  place. 

"And  who  the  devil  are  you?  "  he  snapped  out  in  an 
angry  voice,  all  the  more  angry  since  he  was  con 
scious  of  a  slight  trembling  of  the  knees.  The  door 
swung  open  a  trifle  and  the  pale  face  of  Borkins 


18  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

appeared  around  it.  His  eyes  were  wide  with  fright, 
his  mouth  hung  open. 

"Sir  Nigel,  sir.  I  'card  a  dreadful  noise — like  a 
pistol  shot  it  was,  comin'  from  this  room!  Any- 
think  the  matter,  sir?" 

"Nothing,  you  ass!"  broke  out  Merriton,  fret 
fully,  as  the  butler  began  to  show  other  parts  of  his 
anatomy  round  the  corner  of  the  door.  "Come  in, 
or  go  out,  which  ever  you  please.  But  iror  the  Lord's 
sake,  do  one  or  the  other!  There's  a  beastly  draught. 
The  noise  you  heard  was  that  window  which  pos 
sibly  hasn't  been  opened  for  a  cenlury  or  two,  groan 
ing  in  pain  at  being  forced  into  action  again!  Can't 
sleep  in  this  beastly  room — haven't  closed  my  eyes 
yet — and  when  I  did  get  out  of  that  Victorian  atroc 
ity  over  there  and  take  to  the  sofa  by  [he  window. 
why,  the  first  thing  I  saw  were  those  flames  flicker 
ing  out  across  the  horizon  like  signal-fires,  or  some 
thing!  I've  been  watching  them  for  the  past  twenty 
minutes  and  they've  got  on  my  nerves.  I'm  goin' 
out  to  investigate." 

Borkins  gave  a  little  exclamation  of  alarm  and  put 
one  trembling  hand  over  his  face.  Merriton  sud 
denly  registered  the  fact  as  being  a  symptom  of  the 
state  of  nerves  which  Merriton  Towers  was  likely  to 
reduce  one.  Then  Borkins  shambled  across  the  room 
and  laid  a  timid  hand  upon  Merriton's  arm. 

"For  Gawd's  sake  sir — dont!"  he  murmured  in  a 
shaken  voice.  "Those  lights,  sir — if  you  knew  the 


The  Frozen  Flames  19 

story!  If  you  values  your  life  at  any  price  at  all 
don't  go  out,  sir,  and  investigate  them.  Don't! 
You're  a  dead  man  in  the  morning  if  you  do." 

"What's  that?"  Merriton  swung  round  and  looked 
into  the  weak,  rather  watery,  blue  eyes  of  his  butler. 
"What  the  devil  do  you  mean,  Borkins,  talkin'  a 
lot  of  rot?  What  are  those  flames,  anyway?  And 
why  in  heaven's  name  shouldn't  I  go  out  and  inves 
tigate  'em  if  I  want  to?  Who's  to  stop  me?  " 

"T,  your  lordship— if  I  ever  'as  any  influence  with 
'uman  nature!"  returned  Borkins,  vehemently.  "The 
story's  common  knowledge,  Sir  Nigel,  sir.  Them 
there  flames  is  supernatural.  Frozen  flames  the  vil 
lagers  calls  'em,  because  they  don't  seem  to  give  out 
no  'eat.  That  part  of  the' Fens  in  unin'abited  and 
there  isn't  a  soul  in  the  whole  village  as  would  ven 
ture  anywhere  near  it  after  dark." 

"Why?" 

"Because  they  never  comes  back,  that's  why,  sir!" 
said  Borkins.  "'T isn't  any  old  wives'  tale  neither. 
There's  been  cases  by  the  score.  Only  a  matter  of 
six  months  ago  one  of  the  boys  from  the  mill,  who  was 
somewhat  the  worse  for  liquor,  said  he  was  agoin'  ter 
see  who  it  was  wot  made  them  flames  light  up  by 
theirselves,  and— he  never  came  back.  And  that 
same  night  another  flame  was  added  to  the  number!" 

"Whew!  Bit  of  a  tall  story  that,  Borkins!" 
Nevertheless  a  cold  chill  crept  over  Merriton's  bones 
and  he  gave  a  forced,  mirthless  laugh. 


20  Tlie  Riddle  of  iJie  Frozen  Flame 

"As  true  as  the  gospel,  Sir  Nigel!"  said  Borkins, 
solemnly.  "That's  what  always  'appens.  Every  time 
any  one  ventures  that  way — well,  they're  a-soundin' 
their  own  death-knell,  so  to  speak,  and  you  kin  see 
the  new  light  appear.  But  there's  never  no  trace  of 
the  person  that  ventured  out  across  the  Fens  at  even 
ing  time.  He,  or  she — a  girl  tried  it  once,  Lord  save 
'er! — vanishes  off  the  face  of  the  earth  as  clean  as 
though  they'd  never  been  born.  Gawd  alone  knows 
what  it  is  that  lives  there,  or  what  them  flames  may 
be,  but  I  tells  you  it's  sheer  death  to  attempt  to  see 
for  yourself,  so  long  as  night  lasts.  And  in  the 
morning — well,  it's  gone,  and  there  isn't  a  thing  to 
be  seen  for  the  lookin' ! " 

"Merciful  powers!  What  a  peculiar  thing!"  De 
spite  his  mockery  of  the  supernatural,  Merriton  could 
not  help  but  feel  a  sort  of  awe  steal  over  him,  at  the 
tale  as  told  by  Borkins  in  the  eeriest  hour  of  the  whole 
twenty-four— that  which  hangs  between  darkness 
and  dawn.  Should  he  go  or  shouldn't  he?  He  was 

a  fool  to  believe  the  thing,  and  yet He  certainly 

didn't  want  to  die  yet  awhile,  with  Antoinette  Brel- 
lier  a  mere  handful  of  yards  away  from  him,  and  all 
the  days  his  own  to  cultivate  her  acquaintance  in. 

"You've  fairly  made  my  flesh  creep  with  your 
beastly  story!"  he  said,  in  a  rather  high-pitched  voice. 
"Might  have  reserved  it  until  morning — after  my 
debut  in  this  haunt  of  spirits,  Borkins.  Consider  my 
nerves.  India's  made  a  hash  of  'em.  Get  back  to 


The  Frozen  Flames  21 

bed,  man,  and  don't  worry  over  my  investigations. 
I  swear  I  won't  venture  out,  to-night  at  any  rate. 
Perhaps  to-morrow  I  may  have  summoned  up 
enough  courage,  but  I've  no  fancy  for  funerals  yet 
awhile.  So  you  can  keep  your  pleasant  little  rem 
iniscences  for  another  time,  and  I'll  give  you  my 
word  of  honour  that  I'll  do  nothing  rash!" 

Borkins  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  He  passed  his  hand 
over  his  forehead,  and  his  eyes — rather  shifty,  rather 
narrow,  pale  blue  eyes  which  Merriton  had  instinc 
tively  disliked  (he  couldn't  tell  why) — lightened  sud 
denly. 

"Thank  Gawd  for  that,  sir!"  he  said,  solemnly. 
"You've  relieved  my  mind  on  that  score.  I've  always 
thought — your  poor  uncle,  Sir  Joseph  Merriton — 
and  those  flames  there  might  'ave  been  the  reason 
for  his  disappearance,  though  of  course — - — " 

"What's  that?"  Merriton  turned  round  and  looked 
at  him,  his  brow  furrowed,  the  whole  personality  of 
the  man  suddenly  awake.  "My  uncle,  Borkins? 
How  long  have  these — er — lights  been  seen  here 
abouts?  I  don't  remember  them  as  a  child." 

"Oh, mostly  always,  I  believe,  sir;  though  they  ain't 
been  much  noticed  before  the  last  four  years,"  re 
plied  Borkins.  "I  think — yes — come  August  next. 
Four  years — was  the  first  time  my  attention  was 
called  to  "em." 

Merriton's  laugh  held  a  note  of  relief. 

"Then  you  needn't  have  worried.     My  uncle  has 


22  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

been  missing  for  a  little  more  than  fire  years,  and  that, 
therefore,  when  he  did  disappear  the  flames  obviously 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it!" 

Borkins's  wrinkled,  parchment-like  checks  went  a 
dull,  unhealthy  red.  He  opened  his  mouth  to  speak 
and  then  drew  back  again.  Merriton  gave  him  a 
keen  glance. 

"Of  course,  how  foolish  of  me.  As  you  say,  sir, 
impossible ! "  he  stammered  out,  bowing  backward 
toward  the  door.  "I'll  be  getting  back  to  my  bed 
again,  and  leave  you  to  finish  your  rest  undisturbed. 
I'm  sorry  to  'ave  troubled  you.  I'm  sure,  sir,  only  I 
was  afraid  something  'ad  'appened." 

"That's  all  right.  Good-night,"  returned  Mer 
riton  curtly,  and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  as  the 
door  closed.  He  stood  for  a  moment  thinking,, 
his  eyes  upon  the  winking,  flickering  points  of  light 
that  seemed  dimmer  in  the  fast  growing  light.  "  Now 
why  did  he  make  that  bloomer  about  dates,  I  won 
der?  Uncle's  been  gone  five  years — and  Borkins 
knew  it.  He  was  here  at  the  time,  and  yet  why 
did  he  suggest  that  old  wives'  tale  as  a  possible  solu 
tion  of  the  disappearance?  Borkins,  my  lad,  there's 
more  behind  those  watery  blue  eyes  of  yours  than 
men  may  read.  Hmm!  .  .  .  Now  I  wonder 
why  the  deuce  he  lied  to  me?" 


CHAPTER  III 

SUNSHINE    AND    SHADOW 

HEX  Merrilon  shaved  himself  next  morn 
ing  lie  laughed  at  the  reflection  that  the 
mirror  east  back  at  him.  For  he  looked 
for  all  the  world  as  though  he  had  been  up  all  night 
and  his  knee  was  painful  and  rather  stiff,  as  though 
he  had  strained  some  ligament  in  it. 

"Beastly  place  is  beginning  to  make  its  mark  on 
me  already!''  lie  said,  as  he  lathered  his  chin.  "My 
eyes  look  as  though  they  had  been  stuck  in  with  a 

burnt  cork,  and the  devil  take  my  shaky  hand! 

And  that  railroad  business  yesterday  helps  it  along. 
A  nice  state  of  affairs  for  a  chap  of  my  age, I  must  say! 
Scared  as  a  kid  at  an  old  wives'  story.  Borkins  is 
a  fool,  and  I'm  an  idiot.  .  .  Damn!  there's  a  bit 
off  my  chin  for  a  start.  I  hope  to  goodness  no  one 
takes  it  into  their  heads  to  pay  me  a  visit  to-day." 

His  hopes,  however,  in  this  direction  were  not  to 
be  realized,  for  as  the  afternoon  wore  itself  slowly 
away  in  a  ramble  round  the  old  place,  and  through 
the  stables — which  in  their  day  had  been  famous — 
the  big,  harsh-throated  door-bell  rang,  and  Merri- 
ton,  in  the  very  act  of  telling  Borkiris  that  he  was 

23 


24  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

officially  "not  in,"  happened  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
something  light  and  fluffy  through  the  stained-glass 
of  the  door,  and  suddenly  kept  his  counsel. 

A  few  seconds  later  Borkins  ushered  in  two  visitors. 
Merriton,  prepared  by  the  convenient  glass  for  the 
appearance  of  one  was  nevertheless  not  unpleased  to 
see  the  other.  For  the  names  that  Borkins  rolled 
off  his  tongue  with  much  relish  were  those  of  "Miss 
Brellier  and  Mr.  Brellier,  sir." 

His  lady  of  the  thrice  blessed  wreck!  His  lady 
of  the  dainty  accent  and  glorious  eyes. 

His  face  glowed  suddenly  and  he  crossed  the  big 
room  in  a  couple  of  strides  and  in  the  next  second  was 
holding  Antoinette's  hand  rather  longer  than  was 
necessary,  and  was  looking  down  into  the  rouguish 
greeny-gray  eyes  that  had  captivated  him  only  yes 
terday,  when  for  one  terrible,  glorious  moment  he 
had  held  her  in  his  arms,  while  the  railroad  coach 
dissolved  around  them. 

"Are  you  fit  to  be  about?"  he  said,  his  voice  ring 
ing  with  the  very  evident  pleasure  that  he  felt  at 
this  meeting  with  her,  and  his  eyes  wandering  to 
where  a  strip  of  pink  court  plaster  upon  her  fore 
head  showed  faintly  through  the  screen  of  hair  that 
covered  it.  Then  he  dropped  her  hand  and  turned 
toward  the  man  who  stood  a  pace  or  two  behind  her 
tiny  figure,  looking  at  him  with  the  bluest,  youngest 
eyes  he  had  ever  looked  into. 

"Mr.  Brellier,  is  it  not?     Very  good  of  you,  sir. 


Sunshine  and  Shadow  25 

to  come  across  in  this  neighbourly  fashion.  Won't 
you  sit  down?" 

"Yes,"  said  Antoinette,  gaily,  "my  uncle.  I 
brought  him  right  over  by  telling  him  of  our  adven 
ture." 

The  man  was  tall  and  heavily  built,  with  a  wealth 
of  black  hair  thickly  streaked  with  gray,  and  a  trim, 
well-kept  "imperial"  which  gave  him  the  foreign  air 
that  his  name  carried  out  so  well.  His  morning  suit 
was  extremely  well  cut,  and  his  whole  bearing  that  of 
the  well-to-do  man  about  town.  Merriton  registered 
all  this  in  his  mind's  eye,  and  was  secretly  very  glad 
of  it.  They  were  two  thoroughbreds — that  was  easy 
to  see. 

And  as  for  Antoinette!  Well,  he  could  barely 
keep  his  eyes  from  her.  She  was  lovelier  than  ever, 
and  clad  this  afternoon  in  all  the  fluffy  femininity  that 
every  man  loves.  Anything  more  intoxicatingly 
delicious  Merriton  had  never  seen  outside  of  his  own 
dreams. 

"It  was  certainly  ripping  of  you  both  to  come," 
he  said  nervously,  feeling  all  hands  and  feet.  "Never 
saw  such  a  lonely  spot  in  all  my  life,  by  George,  as 
this  house!  It  fairly  gives  you  the  creeps!" 

"Indeed?"  Brellier  laughed  in  a  deep,  full-throated 
voice.  "For  my  part  the  loneliness  is  what  so  much 
a}) peals  to  me.  When  one  has  spent  a  busy  life 
travelling  to  and  fro  over  the  world,  m'sieur,  one 
can  but  appreciate  the  peaceful  backwaters  which 


26  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

are  so  often  to  be  found  in  this  very  dear,  very 
delightful  England  of  yours.  But  that  is  not  the 
mission  upon  which  I  come.  I  have  to  thank  you. 
sir,  for  the  great  kindness  and  consideration  you  dis 
played  to  my  niece  yesterday." 

His  English  was  excellent,  and  he  spoke  with  the 
clipped,  careful  accent  of  the  foreigner,  which  Mer- 
riton  found  fascinating.  He  had  already  succumbed 
to  something  of  the  same  thing  in  Antoinette.  Hi1 
was  beginning  to  enjoy  himself  very  much  indeed. 

''There  was  no  need  for  thanks — none  at  all. 
"What  is  your  opinion  of  the  Towers,  Miss  Brellier?" 
he  asked  suddenly,  leaning  forward  toward  her,  anx 
ious  to  change  the  con  versa!  ion. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"That  is  hardly  a  fair  question  to  ask!"  she  re 
sponded,  "when  I  have  been  in  it  but  a  matter  of  five 
minutes  or  more.  But  everything  to  me  is  enchant 
ing!  The  architecture,  the  furnishings,  the  very  at 
mosphere 

"Brrh!  If  you  could  have  been  here  last  night!" 
He  gave  a  mock  shudder  and  broke  it  with  a  laugh. 
"Why,  a  truly  haunted  house  wasn't  a  patch  on  it! 
If  this  place  hasn't  got  a  ghost,  well  then  I'll  eat  my 
hat!  I  could  fairly  hear  'em,  dozens  and  dozens  of 
them,  clinking  and  clanking  all  over  the  place.  And 
if  you  could  see  my  room !  I  sleep  in  a  four-poster  as 
big  as  a  suburban  villa,  and  every  now  and  again  the 
furniture  gives  a  comfy  little  crack  or  two,  like  some- 


Sunshine  and  Shadow  27 

one  practising  with  a  pistol,  just  to  remind  me  that 
my  great-great-great-grandmother's  ghost  is  sitting 
in  the  wardrobe  and  watching  over  me  with  true 
great-etc.-grandmotherly  conscientiousness. 
I  say,  do  \ou  ride?  There  ought  to  be  some  rippin' 
rides  round  here,  if  my  memory  doesn't  fail  me." 

She  nodded,  and  the  conversation  took  a  turn  that 
Sir  Nigel  found  more  than  pleasant,  and  the  time 
passed  most  agreeably. 

Merriton,  only  anxious  to  entertain  his  guests, 
suddenly  exploded  the  bomb  which  shattered  that 
afternoon's  enjoyment  for  all  three  of  them. 

"By  the  way,"  he  remarked,  "last  night,  while  I 
was  lying  awake  I  saw  a  lot,  of  funny  flames  dancing 
up  and  down  upon  the  horizon.  Seemed  as  though 
they  lay  in  the  marshes  between  your  place  and  mine, 
Mr.  Brellier.  Borkins  pulled  a  long  story  about  'em 
with  all  the  usual  trimmin's.  Said  they  were  super 
natural  and  all  that.  Ever  seen  'em  yourself?  I 
must  say  they  gave  me  a  bit  of  a  turn.  I'm  not  keen 
on  spirits — except  in  bottle  form  (which  by  the  way 
is  a  rotten  bad  pun,  Miss  Brellier,)  but  in  India  one 
gets  chockful  of  that  sort  of  thing,  and  there  never 
seems  to  be  any  rational  explanation.  It  leaves  you 
feeling  funny.  What's  your  opinion  of  'em?  For 
seen  'em  you  must  have  done,  as  they  seem  to  be 
the  talk  of  the  whole  village  from  what  Borkins 
says." 

Antoinette's  spoon  tinkled  in  the  saucer  of  the  tea- 


28  The  Riddle  of  tJie  Frozen  Flame 

cup  she  was  holding  and  her  face  went  white.  Brellier 
shifted  his  eyes.  A  sort  of  tension  had  settled  sud 
denly  over  the  pleasant  room. 

"I — well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  can't  explain  'eir, 
myself!"  Brellier  said  at  last,  clearing  his  throat  with 
signs  of  genuine  nervousness.  "  They  seem  to  be  inex 
plicable.  I  have  seen  them — yes,  many,  many  times. 
And  so  has  'Toinette,  but  the  stories  afloat  about 
them  are  rather — unpleasant,  and  like  a  wise  man  I 
have  kept  myself  free  of  investigation.  I  do  hope 
you'll  do  the  same,  Sir  Nigel.  One  never  knows,  and 
although  one  cannot  always  believe  the  silly  things 
which  the  villagers  prattle  about,  it  is  as  well  to  be 
on  the  safe  side.  As  you  say,  these  things  sometimes 
lack  a  rational  explanation.  I  should  be  sorry  to 
think  you  were  likely  to  run  into  any  unnecessary 
danger."  He  bent  his  head  and  Merriton  could 
see  that  his  fingers  twitched. 

"Borkins  actually  told  me  stories  of  people  who 
had  disappeared  in  a  mysterious  manner  and  were 
never  found  again,"  he  remarked  casually. 

Brellier  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  spread  out 
his  hands. 

"Among  the  uneducated — what  would  you?  But 
it  is  so,  even  since  I  myself  have  been  in  residence 
at  Withersby  Hall — something  like  three  and  a  half 
years — there  have  been  several  mysterious  dis 
appearances,  Sir  Nigel,  and  all  directly  traceable  to 
a  foolhardy  desire  to  investigate  these  phenomena. 


Sunshine  and  Shadow  29 

For  myself,  I  leave  well  enough  alone.  I  trust  you 
are  going  to  do  likewise?  " 

His  eyes  searched  Merriton's  face  anxiously.  There 
was  a  worried  furrow  between  his  brows. 

Merriton  laughed,  and  at  the  sound,  'Toinette, 
who  had  sat  perfectly  still  during  the  discussion 
of  the  mystery,  gave  a  little  cry  of  alarm  and  covered 
her  ears  with  her  hands. 

"I  beg  of  you,"  she  broke  out  excitedly,  "please, 
please  do  not  talk  about  it!  The  whole  affair 
frightens  me!  Uncle  will  laugh  I  know,  but — I  am 
teriified  of  those  little  flames,  Sir  Nigel,  more  terri 
fied  than  I  can  say !  If  you  speak  of  them  any  more, 
I  must  go— really !  Please,  please  don't  dream  of  try 
ing  to  find  out  what  they  are,  Sir  Xigel!  It — it 
would  upset  me  very  much  indeed  if  you  attempted 
so  foolish  a  thing!" 

Merriton's  first  sensation  at  hearing  this  was  pleas 
ure  that  he  was  capable  of  upsetting  her  over  his  own 
personal  welfare.  Then  the  something  sinister  about 
the  whole  story,  which  seemed  to  affect  every  one 
with  whom  he  came  into  touch,  swept  over  him.  A 
number  of  otherwise  rational  human  beings  scared 
out  of  their  wits  over  some  mysterious  flames  on  the 
edge  of  the  Fens  at  night  time,  seemed,  in  the  face  of 
this  glorious  summer's  afternoon,  to  be  little  short  of 
ridiculous.  He  tried  to  throw  the  idea  off  but  could 
not.  'Toinette's  pale  face  kept  coming  before  him; 
the  sudden  dropping  of  her  spoon  struck  an  un- 


30  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

pleasant  chord  in  his  memory.  Brellier's  attitude 
merely  added  fuel  to  the  fire  and  soon  they  rose  to  go. 
Merriton  following  them  to  the  door. 

"Don't  forget,  then,  Miss  Brellier,  that  you  are 
booked  to  me  for  a  ride  on  Thursday,"  lie  said, 
laughingly. 

She  nodded  to  him  and  gave  his  hand  a  little 
squeeze  at  parting. 

"I  shall  not  forget,  Sir  Nigel.  But — you  will 
promise  me,"  her  voice  dropped  a  tone  or  two,  "you 
will  promise  me  that  you  will  not  try  and  find  out 
what  those — those  flames  are,  won't  you?  I  could 
not  sleep  if  you  did."  And  they  were  gone. 

Merriton  stood  awhile  in  silence,  his  brows  puck 
ered  and  his  mouth  stern.  First  Borkins,  and  then 
Brellier,  and  now — her!  All  of  them  begging  him 
almost  upon  their  knees  to  forego  a  perfectly 
harmless  little  quest  of  discovery.  There  seemed  to 
his  mind  something  almost,  fishy  about  it  all.  What 
then  \vere  these  "Frozen  Flames"?  What  secret  did 
they  hide?  And  what  malignant  power  dwelt  be 
hind  the  screen  of  their  mystery? 


CHAPTER  IV 

AN    EVIL   GENIUS 

THUS,  despite  the  bad  beginning  at  Merriton 
Towers  the  weeks  that  followed  were  filled 
with  happiness  for  Merriton.     His  acquaint 
ance  with  'Toinette  flourished  and  that   charming 
young  woman  grew  to  mean  more  and  more  to  the 
man  who  had  led  such  a  lonely  life. 

And  so  one  day  wove  itself  into  another  with  the 
joy  of  sunlight  over  both  their  lives.  He  took  to 
going  regularly  to  Withersby  Hall,  and  became  an 
expected  guest,  dropping  in  at  all  hours  to  wile  away 
an  hour  or  two  in  'Toinette's  company,  or  else  to  have 
a  quiet  game  of  billiards  with  Brellier,  or  a  cigar  in 
company  with  both  of  them,  in  the  garden,  while  the 
sun  was  still  up.  He  never  mentioned  the  flames  to 
them  again.  But  he  never  investigated  them  either. 
He  had  promised  'Toinette  that,  though  he  often 
watched  them  from  his  bedroom  window,  at  night, 
watched  them  and  wondered,  and  thought  a  good 
deal  about  Borkins  and  how  he  had  lied  to  him  about 
his  uncle's  disappearance  upon  that  first  night. 
Between  Borkins  and  himself  there  grew  up  a  spirit 
of  distrust  which  he  regretted  yet  did  nothing  to 

31 


32  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

counteract.  In  fact  it  is  to  be  feared  thai  he  did  his 
best  at  times  to  irritate  the  staid  old  man  who  had 
been  in  the  family  so  long.  Borkins  did  amuse  him, 
and  he  couldn't  help  leading  him  on.  Borkins, 
noting  this  attitude,  drew  himself  into  himself  and  his 
face  became  mask-like  in  its  impassivity. 

But  if  Borkins  became  a  stone  image  whenever 
Merriton  was  about,  his  effusiveness  was  overpower 
ing  at  such  times  as  Mr.  Brellier  paid  a  visit  to  the 
Towers.  He  followed  both  Brellier  and  his  niece 
wherever  they  went  like  a  shadow.  Jokingly  one 
day,  Merriton  had  made  the  remark:  "Borkins  might 
be  your  factotum  rather  than  mine,  Mr.  Brellier; 
indeed  I've  no  doubt  he  would  be,  if  the  traditions  of 
the  house  had  not  so  long  lain  in  his  hands."  He 
was  rewarded  for  this  remark  by  a  sudden  tightening 
of  Brellier's  lips,  and  then  by  an  equally  sudden  smile. 
They  were  very  good  friends  these  days — Brellier 
and  Merriton,  and  got  on  very  excellently  together. 

And  then,  as  the  days  wore  themselves  away  and 
turned  into  months,  Merriton  woke  up  to  the  fact 
that  he  could  wait  no  longer  before  putting  his  luck 
to  the  test  so  far  as  'Toinette  was  concerned.  He  had 
already  confided  his  secret  to  Brellier,  who  laughed 
and  patted  him  on  the  back  and  told  him  that  he  had 
known  of  it  a  long  time  and  wished  him  luck.  It 
wasn't  long  after  this  he  was  telling  Brellier  the  good 
news  that  'Toinette  had  accepted,  and  the  two  of  them 
came  to  tell  him  of  their  happiness. 


An  Evil  Genius  33 

"So?"  Mr.  Brcllicr  said  quietly.  "Well,  I  am 
very,  very  glad.  You  have  taken  your  time,  mes 
enfant  ft,  in  settling  this  greatest  of  all  questions,  hut 
perhaps  you  have  been  wise.  ...  I  am  very 
happy  for  you,  my  'Toinette,  for  I  feel  that  your 
future  is  in  the  keeping  of  a  good  and  true  man. 
There  are  all  too  few  in  the  world,  believe  me!  .  .  . 

"  'Toineile,  a  friend  awaits  you  in  the  drawing-room. 
Someone,  I  fear  me,  who  will  be  none  too  pleased  to 
hear  this  news,  but  that's  as  may  be.  Dacre  Wynne 
is  there,  'Toinette." 

At  the  name  a  chill  came  over  Merriton. 

Dacre  Wynne!  And  here!  Impossible,  and  yet 
the  name  was  too  uncommon  for  it  to  be  a  different 
person  from  the  man  who  always  seemed  somehow  to 
turn  up  wherever  lie,  Merriton,  might  chance  to  be. 
Sort  of  a  fateful  affinity.  Good  friends  and  all  that, 
but  somehow  the  things  he  always  wanted,  Dacre 
Wynne  had  invariably  come  by  just  beforehand. 
There  was  much  more  than  friendly  rivalry  in  their 
acquaintanceship.  And  once,  as  mere  youngsters  of 
seventeen  and  eighteen,  there  had  been  a  girl,  his  girl, 
until  Dacre  came  and  took  her  with  that  masterful 
way  of  his.  There  was  something  brutally  over 
powering  about  Dacre,  hard  as  granite,  forceful, 
magnetic.  To  Nigel's  young,  clean,  wholesome  mind, 
little  given  to  morbid  imaginings  as  it  was,  it  had  al 
most  seemed  as  if  their  two  spirits  were  in  some 
stifling  stranglehold  together,  wrapt  about  and  inter- 


34  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

twined  by  a  hand  operating  by  means  of  some  un 
known  medium.  And  now  to  lind  him  here  in  his 
hour  of  happiness.  Was  this  close,  uncomfortable 
companionship  of  the  spirit  to  be  forced  on  him  again? 
If  Wynne  were  present  he  felt  he  would  be  powerless 
to  avoid  it. 

"Do  you  know  Dacre  Wynne? "  he  asked,  his  voice 
betraying  an  emotion  that  was  almost  fear. 

'Toinette  Brcllier  glanced  at  her  uncle,  hesitated, 
and  then  murmured:  "Yes — I — do.  I  didn't  know 
you  did,  Nigel.  lie  never  spoke  of  you.  I — he — 
you  see  he  wants  me,  too,  Nigel,  and  I  am  almost 
afraid  to  tell  him — about  us.  But  I — I  have  to  see 
him.  Shall  I  tell  him?" 

"Of  course.  Poor  chap,  I  am  sorry  for  him.  Yes, 
I  know  him,  'Toinette.  But  I  cannot  say  we  are 
friends.  You  see,  I—  Oh,  well,  it  doesn't  mat 
ter." 

But  how  much  Dacre  Wynne  was  to  matter  to  him, 
and  to  'Toinette,  and  to  the  public,  and  to  far  away 
Scotland  Yard,  and  to  the  man  of  mystery,  Hamilton 
Cleek,  not  they — nor  any  one  else — could  possibly 
tell. 

They  went  into  the  long,  cool  drawing  room  to 
gether,  and  came  upon  Dacre  Wynne,  clad  in  riding 
things,  and  looking,  just  as  Nigel  remembered  he  al 
ways  looked,  very  bronzed  and  big  and  handsome  in  a 
heavy  way.  His  back  was  toward  them  and  his  eyes 
were  upon  a  photo  of  'Toinette  that  stood  on  a  carved 


An  Evil  Genius  35 

secretaire.  He  wheeled  at  the  sound  of  their  foot 
steps  and  came  forward,  his  face  lighting  with 
pleasure,  his  hand  outstretched.  Then  he  saw 
Merriton  behind  'Toinette's  tiny  figure,  and  for  a 
moment  some  of  the  pleasure  went  out  of  his  eyes. 

"Hello,"  he  said.  "However  did  you  get  to  this 
part  of  the  world?  You  always  turn  up  like  a  bad 
penny.  .  .  .  What  a  time  you've  been 'Toinette !" 

Merriton  greeted  him  pleasantly,  and  'Toinette's 
radiant  eyes  smiled  up  into  his  bronzed  face. 

"Have  I?  "she  said,  with  a  little  embarrassed  laugh. 
"Well,  I  have  been  out  riding — with  Nigel." 

"Oh, Nigel  lives  round  here, does  he?"  said  Wynne, 
with  a  sarcastic  laugh.  "Like  it,  old  man?" 

"Oh,  I  like  it  well  enough,"  retorted  Merriton. 
"At  any  rate  I'll  be  obliged  to  get  used  to  it.  I've 
said  good-bye  to  India  for  keeps,  Wynne.  I'm  settled 
here  for  good." 

Wynne  swung  upon  his  heel  at  the  tone  of  Merri 
ton 's  voice,  and  his  eyes  narrowed.  He  stood  almost 
a  head  taller  than  Nigel — who  was  by  no  means  short 
— and  was  big  and  broad  and  heavy-chested.  Merriton 
always  felt  at  a  disadvantage. 

"  So?  You  are  going  to  settle  down  to  it  altogether, 
then?"  said  Wynne,  with  an  odd  note  in  his  deep, 
booming  voice.  'Toinette  sent  a  quick,  rather 
scared  look  into  her  lover's  face.  He  smiled  back  as 
1  hough  to  reassure  her. 

"Yes,"    he    said,  a   trifle    defiantly.     "You    see, 


i36  TJie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Wynne,  I've  come  into  a  place  near  here.  I'm — I'm 
hoping  to  get  married  soon.  'Toinette  and  I,  you 
know.  She's  done  me  the  honour  to  promise  to  be 
my  wife.  Congratulate  me,  won't  you?" 

It  was  like  a  blow  full  in  the  face  to  the  other  man. 
For  a  moment  all  the  colour  drained  out  of  his 
bronzed  cheeks  and  he  went  as  white  as  death. 

"  I— I— certainly  congratulate  you,  with  all  my 
heart,"  he  said,  speaking  in  a  strange,  husky  voice, 
"Believe  me,  you're  a  luckier  chap,  Merrilon,  than 
you  know.  Quite  the  luckiest  chap  in  the  world." 

He  took  out  his  handkerchief  suddenly  and  blew 
his  nose,  and  then  wiped  his  forehead,  which,  Merri- 
ton  noted,  was  damp  with  perspiration.  Then  he 
felt  in.  his  pockets  and  produced  a  cigarette. 

"I  may  smoke,  'Toinette?  Thanks.  I've  had  a 
long  ride,  and  a  hard  one.  .  .  .  And  so  you  two 
are  going  to  get  married,  are  you?" 

'Toinetle's  face,  too,  was  rather  pale.  She  smiled 
nervously,  and  instinctively  her  hand  crept  out  and 
touched  Merri!  oil's  sleeve.  She  could  feel  him 
stifi'en  suddenly,  and  saw  how  proudly  he  threw  back 
his  head. 

"Yes,"  said  'Toinette.  "We're  going  to  be  mar 
ried,  Dacre.  And  I  am — oh,  so  happy!  I  know  you 
cannot  help  being  pleased— with  that.  And  uncle, 
too.  He  seems  delighted." 

Wynne  measured  her  with  his  eyes  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  looked  quickly  away. 


An  Evil  Genius  37 

"Well,  Merriton,  you've  got  your  own  back  for 
little  Ilosie  Deverill,  haven't  you?  Remember  how 
heart-broken  you  were  at  sixteen,  when  she  turned 
her  rather  wayward  affections  to  me?  Now — the 
tables  have  turned.  Well,  I  wish  you  luck.  Think 
I'll  be  getting  along.  I've  a  good  deal  of  work  to  do 
this  evening,  and  I'll  be  shipping  for  Cairo,  I  hope, 
next  week.  That's  what  I  came  to  see  you  about 
'Tcinette,  but  I'm  afraid  I  am  a  little— late." 

"Cairo,  Mr.  Wynne?"  Brellier  had  entered  the 
room  and  hi.s  voice  held  a  note  of  surprise.  "We 
shall  iiii'-s  you — • — 

"Oil,  yoif 'I  get  on  all  right  without  me,  ray  friend," 
returned  Wynne  with  a  grim  smile,  and  a  look  that 
included  all  three  of  them  in  ils  mock  amusement. 
"I'm  not  quite  so  much  wanted  as  I  thought.  Well, 
Nigel,  I  suppose  you'll  be  giving  a  dinner,  the  proper 
'stag'  party,  before  you  become  a  Benedict.  Sorry 
I  can't  be  here  to  join  in  the  revels." 

He  put  out  his  hand,  Nigel  took  it,  and  wrung  it 
with  a  heartiness  and  friendship  that  he  had  never 
before  felt;  but  after  all  he  had  conquered!  It  was 
he  Antoinette  was  going  to  marry.  His  heart  was 
brimming  over  with  pity  for  the  man. 

"Look  here,"  he  said.  "Come  and  dine  with  me 
at  the  Towers  before  you  go,  Wynne,  old  man.  We'll 
have  a  real  bachelor  party  as  you  say.  All  the  other 
chaps  and  you,  just  to  give  you  a  sort  of  send  off. 
What  about  Tuesday?  I  won't  have  you  say  no." 


38  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

For  a  moment  a  look  of  friendship  came  into 
Wynne's  eyes.  He  gazed  into  Mcrriton's,  and  then 
returned  the  hand-grasp  frankly.  It  was  almost  as 
though  he  understood  this  mute  apology  of  Nigel's, 
and  took  it  at  its  proper  value. 

"Thanks,  old  boy.  Very  decent  of  you,  I'm  sure. 
Yes,  I'd  like  to  have  a  peep  at  the  other  chaps  before 
I  sail.  Just  for  old  times'  sake.  I've  nothing  special 
doing  Tuesday  that  I  can't  put  off.  And  so — I'll 
come.  So  long." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Merriton,  rather  relieved  at 
Wynne's  attitude — and  yet,  in  spite  of  himself,  dis 
trusting  it. 

"Good-bye,  'Toinette.  .  .  .  It's  really  good 
bye  thix  time.  And  I  wish  you  all  the  happiness 
you  deserve." 

"Thank  you." 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  a  moment,  and  then  with 
a  sudden  sigh  turned  quickly  away  and  went  out  of 
the  room.  Brellier  strode  after  him  and  wrung  his 
hand  while  the  tw7o  that  were  left  clung  lo  each  other 
in  silence.  It  was  as  though  an  unseen,  sinister 
presence  had  suddenly  gone  from  the  room.  The 
tension  was  lifted,  and  they  could  breathe  naturally 
again. 

Standing  together  they  heard  the  front  door  slam. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    SPECTRE   AT    THE    FEAST 

ERRITON,  clad  in  his  evening  clothes  and 
looking  exceedingly  handsome,  stood  by 
the  smoking  room  door,  with  Tony  We.-;  I.., 
short  and  thickset,  wearing  a  suit  that  fitted  badly 
an  J  a  collar  which  looked  sizes  too  large  for  him  (Mer- 
riton  had  long  given  up  hope  of  making  him  visit  a 
decent  tailor)  and  waited  for  the  sound  of  motor 
wheels  which  would  announce  the  arrival  of  further 
guests. 

It  was  the  memorable  Tuesday  dinner,  given  in  the 
firs  I  place  for  Dacre  Wynne,  as  a  sort  of  send  off  be 
fore  he  left  for  Cario.  In  the  second  Merriton  in 
tended  to  break  it  gently  to  the  other  chaps  that  he 
was  shortly  to  become  a  Benedict. 

Lester  Stark  and  Tony  West,  very  loyal  and  proven 
friends  of  Nigel  Merriton,  had  arrived  the  evening 
before.  Dacre  Wynne  was  coming  down  by  the 
seven  o'clock  train,  Dicky  Fordyce,  Reginald  Lefroy 
—both  fellow  officers  of  Merriton's  regiment,  and 
home  on  leave  from  India — and  mild  old  Dr.  Bar 
tholomew,  whom  everyone  respected  and  few  did 
not  love,  and  who  was  in  attendance  at  most  of  the 

39 


40  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

bachelor  spreads  in  London  and  out  of  it,  as  being  a 
dry  old  body  with  a  wit  as  fine  as  a  rapier-thrust, 
and  a  fund  of  delicate,  subtle  humour,  made  up  the 
little  party. 

The  solemn  front  door  bell  of  Merriton  Towers 
clanged,  and  Borkins,  very  pompous  and  elegant, 
flung  wide  the  door.  Merriton  saw  Wynne's  big, 
broad-shouldered  figure  swathed  in  the  black  even 
ing  cloak  which  he  affected  upon  such  occasions,  and 
which  became  him  mightily,  and  with  an  opera  hat 
set  at  the  correct  angle  upon  his  closely-clipped  d.'irk 
hair,  step  into  the  lighted  hallway,  and  begin  taking 
off  his  gloves. 

Tony  West's  raspy  voice  chimed  out  a  welcome, 
as  Merriton  went  forward,  his  hand  outstretched. 

"Hello,  old  man!"  said  Tony.  "How  goes  it? 
Lookin'  a  bit  white  about  the  gills,  aren't  you,  eh? 
.  Whew!  Merriton,  old  chap,  that's  my  ribs, 
if  you  don't  mind.  I've  no  penchant  for  your  bay 
onet-like  elbow  to  go  prodding  into  'em!" 

Merriton  raised  an  eyebrow,  frowned  heavily,  and 
by  every  other  method  under  the  sun  tried  to  make 
it  plain  to  West  that  the  topic  was  taboo.  Where 
fore  Wrest  raised  his  eyebrows,  began  to  make  a  hasty 
exclamation,  thought  better  of  it,  and  then  clapping 
his  hand  over  his  mouth  broke  into  whistling  the 
latest  jazz  tune,  as  though  he  had  completely  ex 
tricated  both  feet  from  the  unfortunate  mire  he  had 
planted  them  in — but  with  very  little  success. 


TJie  Spectre  at  the  Feast  41 

Wynne  was  a  frowning  Hercules  as  he  entered  the 
pleasant  smoke-filled  room.  Merriton's  arm  lay  upon 
his  sleeve,  and  he  endured  because  he  had  to — that 
was  all. 

"Hello!"  he  said,  to  Lester  Stark's  rather  half 
hearted  greeting — Lester  Stark  never  had  liked 
Dacre  Wynne  and  they  both  knew  it.  "  You  here  as 
well?  Merriton's  giving  me  a  send-off  and  no  mis 
take.  Gad!  you  chaps  will  be  envying  me  this  time 
next  week,  I'll  swear!  Out  on  the  briny  for  a  de 
cently  long  trip;  plenty  of  pretty  women — on  which 
I'm  bankin'  of  course" — he  gave  Merriton  a  sudden, 
searching  look,  "and  not  a  care  in  the  vrorld.  And 
the  white  lights  of  Cairo  starin'  at  me  across  the 
water.  Some  picture,  isn't  it?" 

"You  may  keep  it!"  said  Tony  West  with  a 
shudder.  "When  you've  smclled  Cairo,  W^ynne,  old 
boy,  you'll  come  skulkin'  home  with  your  tail 
between  your  legs.  A  'rose  by  any  other  name  wrould 
smell  as  sweet,'  but  Cairo — parts  of  it  mind  you — 
well,  Cairo's  the  stinkin'st  rose  I  ever  put  my  nose 
into,  that's  all!" 

"There  are  some  things  which  offend  the  nostrils 
more  than— odours ! "  threw  back  Wynne  with  a  black 
look  in  Nigel's  direction,  and  with  a  sort  of  slur  in 
his  voice  that  showed  he  had  been  drinking  more 
than  was  good  for  him  that  night.  "I  think  I  can 
endure  the  smells  of  Cairo  after — other  things.  Eh, 
Nigel?"  He  forced  a  laugh  which  was  mirthless  and 


42  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

unpleasant,  and  Merriton,  with  a  quick  glance  into 
his  friends'  faces,  saw  that  they  too  had  seen.  Wynne 
was  in  one  of  his  "devil "  humours,  and  all  the  fun  and 
joking  and  merriment  in  the  world  would  never  get 
him  out  of  it.  His  pity  for  the  man  suddenly  died  a 
natural  death.  The  very  evident  fact  that  Wynne 
had  been  drinking  rather  heavily  merely  added,  a 
further  distaste  to  it  all.  He  wished  heartily  that  he 
had  never  ventured  upon  this  act  of  unwanted  friend 
liness  and  given  a  dinner  in  his  honour.  Wynne  was 
going  to  be  the  spectre  at  the  feast,  and  it  looked 
like  being  a  poor  sort  of  show  after  all. 

"Come,  buck  up,  old  chap!"  broke  out  Tony  West, 
the  irrepressible.  "Try  to  look  a  little  less  like  a 
soured  lemon,  if  you  can!  Or  we'll  begin  to  think 
that  you've  been  and  gone  and  done  something 
you're  sorry  for,  and  are  trying  to  work  it  off  on  us 
instead. " 

"Hello,  here's  Doctor  Johnson,"  as  the  venerable 
Bartholomew  entered  the  room.  "How  goes  it  to 
night,  sir?  A  fine  night,  what?  Behold  the  king  of 
the  feast,  his  serene  and  mighty — oh  extremely  mighty ! 
— highness  Prince  Dacre  Wynne,  world  explorer  and 
soon  to  be  lord-high-sniffer  of  Cairo's  smells!  Don't 
envy  him  the  task,  do  you?" 

He  bowed  with  a  flourish  to  the  doctor  who 
chuckled  and  his  keen  eyes,  fringed  with  snow-white 
lashes,  danced.  He  wore  a  rather  long,  extremely  un 
tidy  beard,  and  his  shirt-front  as  always  was  crum- 


The  Spectre  at  the  Feast  43 

pled  and  worn.  Anything  more  unlike  a  doctor  it 
would  be  hard  to  imagine.  But  he  was  a  clever  one, 
nevertheless. 

"Well,  my  talkative  young  parrot,"  he  greeted 
West  affectionately,  "and  how  are  you?  .  .  And 
who's  party  is  this,  anyhow?  Yours  or  Merriton's? 
You  seem  to  be  putting  yourself  rather  more  to  the 
fore  than  usual." 

"Well,  I'll  soon  be  goin'  aft,"  retorted  West  with  a 
wide  grin.  "When  old  Nigel  gets  his  innings.  He's 
as  chockful  of  news  as  an  egg  is  of  meat."  West  was 
OIK  of  the  chosen  few  who  had  already  heard  of 
Nigel's  engagement,  and  he  was  rather  like  a,  gossipy 
old  woman — but  his  friends  forgave  it  in  him. 

Merriton  gave  him  a  shove,  and  he  fell  back  upon 
Wynne,  emitting  a  portentous  groan. 

"  What  the  devil—  — ?  "  began  that  gentleman,  in  a 
testy  voice. 

Tony  grinned. 

"Nigel  was  ever  thus!"  he  murmured,  with  up 
lifted  eyes. 

"Shut  up!"  thundered  Stark,  clapping  a  hand  over 
West's  mouth,  and  he  subsided  as  the  doorbell  rang 
again,  and  Borkins  ushered  in  Fordyce  and  Lefroy, 
two  slim-hipped,  dapper  young  gentlemen  with  the 
stamp  of  the  army  all  over  them.  The  party  thus 
complete,  Borkins  gravely  withdrew,  and  some  fifteen 
minutes  later  the  great  gong  in  the  hallway  clanged 
out  its  summons.  They  streamed  into  the  dining 


44  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

room,  Doctor  Bartholomew  upon  Tony  West's  fat  lit 
tle  arm;  Fordyce  and  Lefroy,  side  by  side,  hands  in 
pockets  and  closely  cropped  heads  nodding  vigor 
ously;  Merriton  and  Lester  Stark  sauntering  one 
slightly  behind  the  other,  and  exchanging  pleasan 
tries  as  they  went;  and  just  in  front  of  them,  Dacre 
Wynne,  solitary,  huge,  sinister,  and  overbearing. 

Wynne  sat  in  the  seat  of  honour  on  Merriton's 
right.  The  rest  sorted  themselves  out  as  they 
wished,  and  made  a  good  deal  of  noise  and  fun  about 
it,  too.  Down  the  length  of  the  long,  exquisitely 
decorated  table  Merriton  looked  at  his  guests  and 
thought  it  wasn't  going  to  be  so  dismal  after  all. 

Champagne  ran  like  water  and  spirits  ran  high. 
They  joyfully  toasted  Wynne,  and  later  on  the  news 
that  Merriton  imparted  to  them.  In  vain  Dacre 
Wynne's  low  spirits  were  apparent.  lie  must  get 
over  his  grouch,  that  vras  all.  Then  once  again  the 
spirit  of  evil  descended  upon  ilie  gathering  and  it  was 
Stark  who  precipitated  its  flight.  "By  the  way, 
Nigel,"  he  asked  suddenly,  "isn't  there  some  ghost 
story  or  other  pertaining  to  your  district?  Give  us 
a  recital  of  it,  old  boy.  Walnuts  and  wine  and  ghost 
stories,  you  know,  are  just  the  right  sort  of  thing 
after  a  dinner  like  this.  Tony,  switch  off  the  lights. 
This  old  house  of  yours  is  the  very  place  for  ghosts. 
Now  let  us  have  it." 

"Hold  on,"  Nigel  remonstrated.  "Give  me  a 
chance  to  digest  my  dinner,  and — dash  it  all,  the 


The  Spectre  at  the  Feast  45 

thing's  so  deuced  uncanny  that  it  doesn't  bear  too 
much  laughing  at  either!" 

"Come  along!"  Six  voices  echoed  the  cry. 
"We're  waiting,  Nigel." 

So  Merriton  had  forthwith  to  oblige  them.  He,  too, 
had  had  enough  to  drink — though  drinking  too 
heavily  was  not  one  of  his  vices — and  his  flushed  face 
showed  the  excitement  that  burned  within  him. 

"Come  over  here  by  the  window  and  see  the  thing 
for  yourselves,  and  then  you  shall  hear  the  story," 
he  began  enigmatically. 

Nigel  pushed  back  the  heavy  curtain  and  there, 
in  the  darkness  without — it  was  getting  on  towrard 
ten  o'clock — gleamed  and  danced  and  flickered  the 
little  flames  that  had  so  often  puzzled  him,  and  filled 
his  soul  with  a  strange  sort  of  supernatural  fear. 
Against  the  blackness  beyond  they  hung  like  a 
chain  of  diamonds  irregularly  strung,  flickering 
incessantly. 

Every  man  there,  save  one,  and  that  one  stood 
apart  from  the  others  like  some  giant  bull  who  deigns 
not  to  run  with  the  herd — gave  an  involuntary  ex 
clamation. 

"What  a  deuced  pretty  sight!"  remarked  Fordyce, 
in  his  pleasant  drawl.  "What  is  it?  Some  sort  of 
fair  or  other?  Didn't  know  you  had  such  things  in 
these  parts." 

"We  don't."  It  was  Merriton  who  spoke,  rather 
curtly,  for  the  remark  sounded  inane  to  his  ears. 


46  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"It  is  no  fair  you  ass,  it's — God  knows  what !  That's 
the  point  of  the  whole  affair.  What  arc  those  flames, 
and  where  do  they  come  from?  That  part  of  the 
Fens  is  uninhabited,  a  boggy,  marshy,  ghostly  spot 
which  no  one  in  the  whole  countryside  will  cross  at 
night.  The  story  goes  that  those  who  do — well  they 
never  come  back." 

"Oh,  go  easy,  Nigel!"  struck  in  Tony  West  with  a 
whistle  of  pretended  astonishment.  "Champagne 
no  doubt,  but— 

"It's  the  truth  according  to  the  villagers,  anyhow!" 
returned  Merriton,  soberly.  "That  is  how  the  story 
goes,  my  lad,  and  you  chaps  asked  me  for  it.  Those 
Frozen  Flames — it's  the  villagers'  name,  not  mine — 
they  say  are  supernatural  phenomena,  and  any  one, 
as  I  said  before,  crossing  the  place  near  them  at  night 
disappears  clean  off  the  face  of  the  earth.  Then  a 
new  flame  appears,  the  soul  of  the  johnny  who  has 

<  i   1     55 

gone  out  . 

"Any  proof?"  inquired  Doctor  Bartholomew 
suddenly,  stroking  his  beard,  and  arching  his  bushy 
eyebrows,  as  if  trying  to  sympathize  with  his  host's 
obvious  half  belief  in  the  story. 

Nigel  wheeled  and  faced  him  in  the  dim  light. 
The  pupils  of  his  eyes  were  a  trifle  dilated. 

"Yes,  so  I  understand.  Short  time  back  a  chap 
went  out — fellow  called  Myers — Will  Myers.  lie 
was  a  bit  drunk,  I  think,  and  thought  he'd  have 
a  shot  at  makin'  the  village  busybodies  sit  up  and 


The  Spectre  at  the  Feast  47 

give  'em  something  to  talk  about.  Anyhow,  he 
went." 

"And  he  came  back?"  Unconsciously  a  little 
note  of  anxiety  had  crept  into  Tony  West's  voice. 

"No,  on  the  contrary,  he  did  not  come  back.  They 
searched  for  his  body  all  over  the  marshes  next  day, 
but  it  had  disappeared  absolutely,  and  the  chap  who 
told  me  said  he  saw  another  light  ccme  out  the  next 
night,  and  join  the  rest  of  'em.  .  .  .  There, 
there's  your  story,  Lester,  make  what  you  like  of  it. 
I've  done  my  bit  and  told  it  anyway." 

.For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Then  Si  ark 
shook  himself. 

"Gad,  what  an  uncanny  story  I  Turn  up  the 
lights  someone,  and  dispel  this  gloom  that  seems  to 
have  settled  on  everyone!  What  do  you  make  of  it?" 

Suddenly  Wynne's  great,  bulky  figure  swung  free 
from  the  shadows.  There  were  red  glints  in  his  eyes 
and  a  sneer  curled  his  heavy  lips.  He  sucked  liis 
cigar  and  threw  his  head  back. 

"What  I  make  of  it  is  a  whole  lot  of  old  women's 
damn  silly  nonsense!"  he  announced  in  a  loud  voice. 
"And  how  a  sensible,  decent  thinkin'  man  can  give 
credence  to  the  thing  for  one  second  beats  me 
completely!  Nigel's  head  was  always  full  of  imagi 
nations  Cof  a  sort)  but  how  you  other  chaps  can  listen 
to  the  thing — Well,  all  I  can  say  is  you're  the  rotten- 
est  lot  of  idiots  I've  ever  come  across!" 

Merriton  shut  his  lips  tightly  for  a  moment,  and 


48  TJie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

tried  hard  to  remember  that  this  man  was  a  guest  in 
his  house.  It  was  so  obvious  that  Wynne  was  try 
ing  for  a  row,  Doctor  Bartholomew  turned  round 
and  lifted  a  protesting  hand. 

"Don't  you  think  your  language  is  a  trifle — or— 
overstrong,  Wynne?"  he  said,  in  that  quiet  voice  of 
his  which  made  all  men  listen  and  wonder  why  they 
did  it. 

Wynne  tossed  his  shoulders.  His  thick  neck  was 
rather  red. 

"No,  I'm  damned  if  I  do!  You're  men  here— 
or  supposed  to  be — not  a  pack  of  weak-kneed 
women!  .  .  .  Afraid  to  go  out  and  see  what 
those  lights  are,  are  you?  Well,  I'm  not.  Look 
here.  I'll  have  a  bet  with  you  boys.  Fifty  pounds 
that  I  get  back  safely,  and  dispel  the  morbid  fancies 
from  your  kindergarten  brains  by  tellin'  you  that  the 
things  are  glow-worms,  or  some  fool  out  for  a  practi 
cal  joke  on  the  neighbourhood — which  has  fallen  for 
it  like  this  sort  of  one-horse  hole-in-t  he-corner  place 
would!  Fifty  pounds?  What  say  you?" 

He  glowered  round  upon  each  of  them  in  turn,  his 
sneering  lips  showing  the  pointed  dogs'  teeth  behind 
them,  his  whole  arrogant  personality  brutally  awake. 
"Who'll  take  it  on?  You  Merriton?  Fifty  pounds, 
man,  that  I  don't  get  back  safely  and  report  to  you 
chaps  at  twelve  o'clock  to-night." 

Merriton's  flushed  face  went  a  shade  or  two  redder, 
and  he  took  an  involuntary  step  forward.  It  was 


The  Spectre  at  the  Feast  49 

only  the  doctor's  fingers  upon  his  coat-sleeve  that 
restrained  him.  Then,  too,  he  felt  some  anxiety  that 
this  drunken  fool  should  attempt  to  do  the  very  thing 
which  another  drunken  fool  had  attempted  three 
months  back.  lie  couldn't  bet  on  another  man's 
chance  of  life,  like  he  would  on  a  race-horse! 

"You'll  be  a  fool  if  you  go,  Wynne,"  he  said,  as 
quietly  as  his  excitement  would  permit.  "As  my 
guest  I  ask  you  not  to.  The  thing  may  be  all 
rubbish — possibly  is-— but  I'd  rather  you  took  no 
chances.  Who  it  is  that  hides  on  I  there  and  kills  his 
victims  or  smuggles  them  away  I  don't  know,  but  I'd 
rather  you  didn't,  old  chap.  And  I'm  not  betting  on 
a  fellow's  life.  Have  another  drink  man,  and  forget 
all  about  it." 

Wynne  took  this  creditable  effort  at.  reconciliation 
with  a  harsh  guffaw.  He  crossed  to  Nigel  and  put 
his  big,  heavy  hands  upon  the  slim  shoulders,  bend 
ing  his  flushed  face  down  so  I  ha!  the  eyes  of  both 
were  almost  upon  a  level. 

"You  little,  white-livered  sneak,"  he  said  in  a  deep 
rumbling  voice  that  was  like  thunder  in  the  still 
room.  "Pull  yourself  together  and  try  to  be  a  man. 
Take  on  the  bet  or  not,  whichever  you  like.  You're 
savin'  up  for  the  housekeepin'  I  suppose.  Well, 
take  it  or  leave  it — fifty  pounds  that  I  get  back  safe 
in  this  house  to-night.  Are  you  on?" 

Merriton's  teeth  bit  into  his  lips  until  the  blood 
came  in  the  effort  at  repression.  He  shook  Wrynne's 


50  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

hands  off  his  shoulders  and  laughed  straight  into 
the  other  man's  sneering  face. 

"Well  then  go— and  be  damned  to  you!"  he  said 
fiercely.  "And  blame  your  drunken  wits  if  you  come 
to  grief.  I've  done  my  best  to  dissuade  you.  If 
you  were  less  drunk  I'd  square  the  thing  up  and  fight 
you.  But  I'm  on,  all  right.  Fifty  pounds  that  you 
don't  get  back  here — though  I'm  decent  enough  to 
hope  I'll  have  to  pay  it.  That  satisfy  you?" 

"All  right."  Wynne  straightened  himself,  took  an 
unsteady  step  forward  toward  the  door,  and  it  was 
then  thai,  they  all  realized  how  exceedingly  drunk 
the  man  was.  lie  had  come  to  the  dinner  in  a  state 
of  partial  intoxication,  which  merely  made  him  bad- 
tempered,  but  now  the  spirits  that  he  had  partaken 
of  so  plentifully  was  burning  itself  into  his  very  brain. 

Doctor  Bartholomew  took  a  step  toward  him. 

"Dash  it  all!"  he  said  under  his  breath  and  ad 
dressing  no  one  in  particular,  "he  can't  go  like  that. 
Can't  some  of  us  stop  him?" 

"Try,"  put  in  Lester  Stark  sententiously,  having 
had  previous  experiences  of  Wynne's  mood,  so  Doc 
tor  Bartholomew  did  try,  and  got  cursed  for  his  pains. 
Wynne  was  struggling  into  his  great,  picturesque 
cloak,  a  sinister  figure  of  unsteady  gait  and  blood 
shot  eye.  As  he  went  to  the  hall  and  swung  open  the 
front  door,  Merriton  made  one  last  effort  to  stop  him. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Wynne,"  he  said  anxiously. 
"The  game's  not  worth  the  candle.  Stay  where  you 


The  Spectre  at  the  Feast  51 

are  and  I'll  put  you  up  for  the  night,  but  in  Heaven's 
name  don't  venture  out  across  the  Fens  now." 

Wynne  turned  and  showed  him  a  reddened,  con 
gested  face  from  which  the  eyes  gleamed  evilly. 
Merriton  never  forgot  that  picture  of  him,  or  the 
sudden  tightening  of  the  heart-strings  that  he 
experienced,  the  sudden  sensation  of  foreboding  that 
swept  over  him. 

"Oh— go  to  hell!"  Wynne  said  thickly.  And 
plunged  out  into  the  darkness. 


A   SHOT    IN   THE   DARK 

THE  church  clock,  some  distance  over  Herne's 
Hill  which  lies  at  the  back  of  Merriton 
Towers,  broke  the  half  silence  that  had  fallen 
upon  the  little  group  of  men  in  the  warm  smoking 
room  with  twelve  sonorous,  deep- throated  notes.  At 
sound  of  them  Merriton  got  to  his  feet  and  stretched 
his  hands  above  his  head.  A  damper  had  fallen  over 
the  spirits  of  his  guests  after  Wynne  had  gone  out  into 
the  night  on  his  foolish  errand,  and  the  fury  against 
him  that  had  stirred  Nigel's  soul  was  gradually  wear 
ing  oif. 

"Well,  Wynne  said  twelve,  didn't  he?"  he  re 
marked,  with  a  sort  of  half-laugh  as  lie  surveyed  the 
grave  faces  of  the  men  who  were  seated  in  a  semi 
circle  about  him,  "and  twelve  it  is.  We'll  wait 
another  half  hour,  and  then  if  he  doesn't  come  we'll 
make  a  move  for  bed.  He'll  be  playing  some  beastly 
trick  upon  us,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  What  a 
horrible  temperament  the  man  has!  He  was  sup 
posed  to  be  putting  up  with  the  Brelliers  to-night- 
old  man  Brellier  was  decent  enough  to  ask  him — and 
possibly  he'll  simply  turn  in  there  and  laugh  to  him- 

51 


,- 


A  Shot  in  the  Dark  53 

self  at  the  picture  of  us  chaps  sitting  here  in  the 
mornin*  and  wailin'  for  his  return!" 

Doctor  Bartholomew  shook  his  white  head  with  a 
good  deal  of  obstinacy. 

"I  think  you're  wrong  there  Nigel.  Wynne  is  a 
man  of  his  word,  drunk  or  sober.  He'll  come  back, 
no  doubt.  Unless  something  has  happened  to  him." 

"And  this  from  our  sceptical  disbeliever,  boys!" 
struck  in  Tony  West,  raising  his  hands  in  mock 
horror.  "Nigel,  m'lad,  you've  made  an  early  con 
version.  The  good  doctor  has  a  sneaking  belief  in 
the  story.  How  now,  son?  What's  your  plan  of 
action?" 

"Half  an  hour's  wait  more,  and  then  to  bed,"  said 
Merriton,  tossing  back  his  head  and  setting  his  jaw. 
"I  offered  Wynne  a  bed  in  the  first  place,  but  he  saw 
fit  to  refuse  me.  If  he  hasn't  made  use  of  this  op 
portunity  to  turn  in  at  the  Brelliers'  place,  I'll  eat  my 
hal .  What  about  a  round  of  cards,  boys,  till  the  time 
is  up?" 

So  the  cards  were  produced,  and  the  game  began. 
But  it  was  a  half-hearted  attempt  at  best,  for  every 
one's  ear  was  strained  for  the  front-door  bell,  and 
everyone  had  an  eye  half-cocked  toward  the  window. 
Before  the  half  hour  was  up  the  game  had  fizzled  out. 
And  still  Dacre  Wynne  did  not  put  in  an  appearance. 

Borkins,  having  been  summoned,  brought  in  some 
whisky  and  Merriton  remarked  casually: 

"Mr.  Wynne  has  ventured  out  to  try  and  discover 


54  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

the  meaning  of  the  Frozen  Flames,  Borkins.  He'll 
be  baek  some  time  this  evening — or  rather  morning, 
I  should  say,  for  it's  after  midnight — and  the  other 
gentlemen  and  myself  are  going  to  make  a  move  for 
bed.  Keep  your  ears  peeled  in  case  you  hear  him. 
I  sleep  like  the  very  old  devil  himself,  when  once  I  do 
get  off." 

Borkins,  on  hearing  this,  turned  suddenly  gray, 
and  the  perspiration  broke  out  on  his  forehead. 

"Gone,  sir?  Mr.  Wynne — gone — out  there?"  he 
said  in  a  stifled  voice.  "Oh  my  Gawd,  sir.  It's — 
it's  suicide,  that's  what  it  is!  And  Mr.  Wynne's 
— gone!  .  .  .  '  E'll  never  come  back,  I  swear." 

Merriton  laughed  easily. 

"Well,  keep  your  swearing  to  yourself.  Borkins," 
he  returned,  "and  see  that  the  gentlemen's  rooms  are 
ready  for  'em.  Doctor  Bartholomew  has  the  one 
next  to  mine,  and  Mr.  West's  is  on  the  other  side. 
I  gave  Mrs.  Dredge  full  instructions  this  morning. 
.  .  .  .  Good-night,  Borkins,  and  pleasant  dreams." 

Borkins  left.  But  his  face  was  a  dull  drab  shade 
and  he  was  trembling  like  a  man  who  has  received  a, 
terrible  shock. 

"There's  a  case  of  genuine  scare  for  you,"  re 
marked  Doctor  Bartholomew  quietly,  drawing  on 
his  pipe.  ;'That  man's  nerves  are  like  unstrung 
wires.  Hardly  ever  seen  a  chap  so  frightened  in  all 
the  course  of  my  medical  career.  He's  either  had 
experience  of  the  thing,  or  he  knows  something  about 


A  Shot  in  the  Dark  55 

it.  Whichever  way  it  is,  he's  the  most  terrified  ob 
ject  I've  ever  laid  eyes  on!" 

Merriton  broke  into  a  laugh.  But  there  was  not 
much  merriment  in  it,  rather  a  note  of  uneasiness 
which  made  Tony  West  glance  up  at  him  sharply. 

"Best  place  for  you,  old  chap,  is  your  bed,"  he  said, 
getting  to  his  feet  and  laying  an  arm  across  Nigel's 
shoulders.  ''Livin'  down  here  does  seem  to  play  the 
old  Harry  with  one's  nerves.  I'm  as  jumpy  as  a 
kitten  myself.  Take  it  from  me,  Wynne  will 
return,  Nigel,  and  when  he  does  he'll  see  to  it  that  we 
all  hear  him.  He'll  probably  break  every  pane  of 
glass  in  the  place  with  a  stone,  and  play  a  devil's 
dance  upon  the  knocker.  That's  his  usual  way  of  ex- 
pressin'  his  pleasure,  I  believe.  Here,  here's  health 
to  you,  old  boy,  and  happiness,  and  the  best  of 
luck."' 

That  lilile  ceremony  being  over,  they  turned  in, 
Doctor  Bartholomew,  his  arm  linked  in  Nigel's  going 
with  him  to  his  bedroom,  and,  in  the  half-dusk  of  the 
spluttering  candles,  they  stood  together  at  the  un 
curtained  window  and  looked  out  in  silence  upon  the 
flames,  the  Frozen  Flames  that  Wynne  had  gone  out 
to  investigate.  For  quite  ten  minutes  they  stood  still. 
Then  the  doctor  stirred  himself  and  broke  into  a  little 
laugh. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said  comfortably,  "whatever  our 
friend  Wynne  is  going  to  do,  I  don't  really  think  we 
need  put  any  credence  in  the  story  that  he  won't 


56  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

return,  Nigel.  So  you  can  go  to  bed  in  comfort  on 
that,  can't  you?" 

Merriton  nodded.  Then  he  yawned  and  shut  his 
eyes. 

"What's  that?  Credence  in  the  story?  Of  course 
not,  Doctor.  I'm  not  such  a  fool  as  I  may  look. 
Wynne's  playing  a  game  on  us,  and  at  this  moment 
he  is  probably  seated  in  Brellier's  study  having  a 
laugh  at  the  rest  of  us,  wait  in'  up  for  him  anxiously, 
like  a  lot  of  scared  old  women.  Ileigho!  I'm  tired 
.  You're  interested  in  firearms,  Doctor.  Here's 
my  little  pet,  my  sleepin'  companion,  you  under 
stand,  that  has  been  with  me  through  many  a  hot 
campaign."  He  leaned  over  and  took  a  little  re 
volver  out  of  the  drawer  of  the  little  cabinet  that 
stood  by  the  bedside.  The  doctor,  who  had  a  re 
markably  fine  collection  of  firearms,  handled  it  with 
practised  hands,  remarked  upon  its  good  points, 
cocked  the  tiny  thing,  and  then  lifting  his  head  looked 
Nigel  straight  in  the  eyes. 

"I  see  you  keep  it  loaded,  my  boy,"  he  said  quietly. 

Merriton  laughed. 

"Yes.  Habit,  I  suppose.  One  needed  a  loaded  re 
volver  in  the  jungle  where  every  black  man's  hand 
was  against  you.  Nice  little  toy,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes.     Looks  very  business-like,  too." 

"It  is.  Twice  now  it  has  saved  my  life.  I  owe 
it  a  good  turn.  .  .  .  Well,"  laying  the  thing 
down  upon  the  top  of  the  cabinet  and  turning  to  the 


A  Shot  in  the  Dark  57 

doctor  with  a  smile.  "I  suppose  you'll  be  turning  in 
now.  Pleasant  dreams,  old  chap,  and  plenty  of  'em. 
If  you  hear  anything  of  Wynne-— 

"I'll  let  you  know,"  broke  in  the  doctor,  returning 
the  smile  affectionately.  "Good-night." 

He  turned  and  wrent  out  through  the  door  to  his 
own  room,  the  next  one  along  the  hall. 

Nigel,  after  hesitating  a  moment,  strode  over  to 
the  window.  It  was  still  as  black  as  a  pocket  out 
side,  for  dawn  was  not  due  for  some  hours  yet,  and 
against  the  darkness  the  flames  still  danced  their 
nightly  revel.  He  shook  his  fist  at  them  and  then 
broke  into  a  harsh  laugh  as  the  thought  of  Dacre 
Wynne  came  to  him  again.  Dash  the  fellow!  He 
was  always,  in  some  way  or  another,  intruding  upon 
his  privacy,  whether  it  was  mental  or  otherwise. 
Then,  as  he  looked,  it  seemed  as  though  a  fresh  flame 
suddenly  flashed  out  in  the  velvet  darkness  to  the  left 
of  the  others.  To  his  excited  fancy  it  looked  bigger, 
brighter,  newer!  But  that  was  impossible!  The 
Fens  were  uninhabited. 

He  watched  the  light  for  a  moment  or  two,  and 
then  suddenly,  obsessed  with  a  strange  fear,  strode 
across  the  room  and  picked  up  the  tiny  revolver. 

"Damn  it!  I'm  going  silly!"  he  exclaimed  angrily, 
and  throwing  the  window  open  took  aim,  his  brain 
on  fire  with  the  champagne  and  the  excitement  of  the 
evening.  "Now  let's  see  if  you'll  go,  you  infernal 
little  devil!" 


58  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

His  finger  touched  the  trigger,  the  thing  spoke 
softly — that  was  one  of  its  chief  attractions  for 
Nigel — and  spat  forth  a  little  jet  of  flame.  And  as 
it  did  so,  his  brain  cleared  like  magic.  He  laughed 
and  shook  himself  as  though  out  of  a  trance  into  which 
he  had  fallen.  The  light  was  still  there.  What  a 
fool  he  wTas,  potting  at  glowworms  like  a  madman! 
lie  shut  the  window  with  a  bang  and  started  to  un 
dress,  and  then  went  over  to  the  door  as  he  heard  the 
doctor's  voice  outside. 

"Thought  I  heard  a  shot,  Nigel,  what ?" 

"  You  did.  I'm  a  silly  ass  and  have  been  potting  at 
those  beastly  flames,"  returned  Merriton,  shame 
facedly.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  tell  the  other 
fellows.  They'll  think  I've  gone  loony.  And  for  a 
moment  I  believe  I  had.  But  there's  no  harm  done." 

"Potting  at  those  flames!"  The  doctor's  voice 
was  almost  concerned.  Then  he  shrugged  his  slioul- 
ers.  "Oh,  well,  there's  nothing  in  it!  I  must  say 
I've  taken  a  chance  shot  now  and  again  at  a  bird  my 
self  from  my  bedroom  before  now.  Still,  get  to  bed, 
Nigel,  like  a  good  fellow,  and  have  some  sleep.  Here, 
give  me  the  pistol.  You'll  be  potting  at  me  before  I 
know  where  I  am.  I'll  take  it  into  my  room,  thank 

you!" 

"Right  you  are!"  Merriton's  laugh  rang  more  nor 
mally  and  the  doctor  nodded  with  pleasure.  "  Good 
night,  Doctor." 

"Good-night." 


A  Shot  in  the  Dark  59 

Then  the  door  closed  again,  and  the  house  dropped 
once  more  inio  stillness.  In  ten  minutes  Merriton 
tumbled  into  bed.  lie  slept  like  a  log.  .  .  .  He 
hadn't  seen  the  doctor  drop  that  sleeping  draught 
into  that  last  whisky  while  Tony  West  kept  him 
talking.  That  was  why  he  slept. 

Later  on,  however,  his  shame  at  his  own  foolish 
ness  in  firing  his  pistol  at  mere  flames  of  the  night  was 
the  cause  of  grave  difliculty.  For  when  he  related 
the  story  cf  the  whole  affair  to  (leek's  master  mind 
he  left  that  out!  And  very  nearly  was  it  his  own  un 
doing,  for  strange  was  to  be  the  outcome  of  that  shot 
in  the  night. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   WATCHER   IN   THE   SHADOW 

>TJT  if  Men-item  slept,  the  others  of  the  little 
party  did  not.  After  his  door  had  closed 
upon  him  they  appeared  from  their  rooms, 
and  met  by  arrangement  once  more  in  the  study. 
Doctor  Bartholomew — a  little  late  at  having  waited 
and  listened  for  the  outward  result  of  his  drug  in 
Nigel's  comforting  snore — joined  the  group  with  an 
anxious  face.  There  was  no  laughter  now  in  the 
pleasant,  heated  smoking  room.  Every  face  there 
wore  a  look  that  bordered  closely  upon  fear. 

"Well,  Doctor,"  said  Tony  West,  as  he  entered  the 
room,  "what's  the  plan?  I  don't  like  Wynne's  ab 
sence,  I  swear  I  don't.  It — it  looks  fishy,  somehow. 
And  he  was  in  no  mood  to  play  boyish  pranks  on  us 
by  turnin'  in  at  the  Brelliers'  place.  There's  some- 
thin'  else  afoot.  What's  your  idea,  now?  " 

The  doctor  considered  a  moment. 

"Better  be  getting  out  and  form  a  search  party," 
he  said  quietly.  "If  nothing  turns  up — well,  Nigel 
needn't  know  we've  been  out.  But — there's  more  in 
this  than  meets  the  eye,  boys.  Frankly,  I  don't  like 
it.  Wynne's  a  brute,  but  he  never  liked  practical 

60 


The  Watcher  in  the  Shadow  01 

joking.  It's  my  private  opinion  that  he  would  have 
returned  by  now — if  something  hadn't  happened  to 
him.  'We'll  wait  till  dawn,  and  then  we'll  go.  Nigel 
is  good  for  some  hours  yet.  Wynne  always  had  a  bad 
effect  on  him.  Ever  noticed  it,  West?  Or  yous 
Stark?" 

The  two  men  nodded. 

"Yes,"  said  Tony,  "I  have.  I^Iany  times.  Nigel's 
never  the  same  fellow  when  that  man's  about.  He's 
—he's  got  some  sort  of  devilish  influence  over  him,  I 
believe.  And  how  he  hates  Nigel!  See  his  eyes  to 
night?  lie  could  have  killed  him,  I  believe — specially 
GS  Nigel's  taken  his  girl." 

'"Yes."  The  doctor's  voice  was  rather  grave. 
"Wynne's  a  queer  chap  and  a  revengeful  one.  And 
he  was  as  drimk  as  a  beast  lo-:;i,-!it.  .  .  Well, 
boys,  we'll  sit  down  and  wait  awhile." 

Pipes  were  go  I  out  and  cigarettes  lighted.  For  an 
hour  hi  the  hot  smoking-room  the  men  sat,  talking  in 
undertones  and  smoking,  or  dropping  off  into  long 
silences.  Finally  the  doctor  drew  out  his  watch. 
He  sighed  as  he  looked  at  it. 

"Three  o'clock,  and  no  sign  of  Wynne  yet.  We'll 
be  getting  our  things  on,  boys." 

Instantly  every  man  rose  to  his  feet.  The  ten 
sion  slackened  with  movement.  In  comparative  si 
lence  they  stole  out  into  the  hall,  threw  on  their  coats 
and  hats,  and  then  Tony  West  nervously  slid  the  bolts 
of  the  big  front  door.  It  creaked  once  or  twice,  but 


62  The  Riddle  of  ttie  Frozen  Flame 

no  sound  from  the  still  house  answered  it.  West 
swung  it  open,  and  on  the  whitened  step  they 
quietly  put  on  their  shoes. 

The  doctor  switched  on  an  electric  torch  and  threw 
a  blob  of  light  upon  the  gravelled  pathway  for  them  to 
see  the  descent.  Then  one  by  one  they  went  quietly 
down  the  steps,  and  West  shut  the  door  behind  them. 

"Excellent!  Excellent!"  exclaimed  Doctor  Bar 
tholomew,  as  the  gate  was  reached  with  no  un 
toward  happenings.  "Not  a  soul  knows  we're  gone, 
boys.  That's  pretty  certain.  Now,  then,  out  of  the 
gate  and  turn  to  the  right  up  that  lane.  It'll  take 
us  to  the  very  edge  of  the  Fens,  I  believe,  and  then 
our  search  will  commence." 

He  spoke  with  assurance,  and  they  followed  him 
instinctively.  Unconsciously  they  had  made  him 
captain  of  the  expedition.  But — no  one  had  heard 
them,  he  had  said?  If  he  had  looked  back  once 
when  the  big  gate  shut,  he  might  have  changed  his 
mind  upon  that  score.  With  white  face  pressed 
close  against  the  glass  of  the  smoking-room  window, 
which  looked  directly  out  upon  the  front  path,  stood 
Borkins,  watching  them  as  though  he  were  watching 
a  line  of  ghosts  on  their  nightly  prowl. 

"Good  Gawd!"  he  ejaculated,  as  he  discerned  their 
dark  figures  and  the  light  of  the  doctor's  torch. 
"Every  one  of  'em  gone — every  one!"  And  then, 
trembling,  he  went  back  to  bed. 

But  the  doctor  did  not  look  back,  and  so  the  little 


The  Watcher  in  the  Shadow  63 

party  proceeded  upon  its  way  in  comparative  silence 
until  the  edge  of  the  Fens  was  reached.  Here,  with 
one  accord,  they  stopped  for  further  instructions, 
Three  torches  made  the  spot  upon  which  they  stood 
like  daylight.  The  doctor  bent  his  eyes  down  ward. 

"Now,  boys,"  he  said  briskly.  "Keep  your  eyes 
sharp  for  footprints.  Wynne  must  have  struck  off 
here  into  the  Fens,  it's  the  most  direct  course.  He 
wouldn't  have  been  such  a  duffer  as  to  walk  too  far 
out  of  his  way— if  he  was  bent  upon  going  there  at  all 
.  Hello!  Here's  the  squelchy  mark  of  a  man's 
boot,  and  here's  another! " 

They  followed  the  track  onward,  with  perfect  ease, 
for  the  marshy  ground  was  sodden  and  took  every 
footprint  deeply.  That  some  man  had  crossed  this 
way,  and  recently,  too,  was  perfectly  plain.  The 
footprints  wavered  a  little  that  was  all,  showing  that 
the  man  who  made  them  was  uncertain  upon  his  ft  et~ 
And  Wynne  had  left  the  house  by  no  means  sober! 

"It  looks  as  though  lie  had  come  here  after  all!" 
broke  out  Tony  West,  excitedly.  "Why  the  track's 
as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face." 

They  zig-zagged  their  tedious  way  out  across  the 
marshy  grassland,  their  thin  shoes  squelching  in  the 
bogs,  their  trousers  unmercifully  spattered  with  the 
thick,  treacley  mud.  They  spoke  little,  their  eyes 
bent  upon  the  ground,  their  foreheads  wrinkled.  On 
and  on  and  on  they  went,  while  the  sky  above  them 
lightened  and  grew  murky  with  the  soft  cloudiness 


64  The  Riddle  of  tJte  Frozen  Flame 

of  breaking  dawn.  The  flames  in  the  distance  began 
to  pale,  and  the  vast  stretch  of  Fen  district  before 
them  was  shrouded  in  a  light  fog,  misty,  unutterably 
ghostlike  and  with  the  chill  lonesomeness  of  death. 

"Whew!  Eeriest  task  I've  ever  come  across!" 
ejaculated  Stark  with  a  grimace  as  he  looked  up  for  a 
moment  into  the  dull  mist  ahead.  "If  we're  not  all 
down  with  pneumonia  to-morrow,  it  won't  be  our 
own  faults!  .  .  .  Some  distance,  isn't  it,  Doc- 

•3  " 

tor. 

"It  is,"  returned  the  doctor  grimly.  "What  a 
fool  the  man  was  to  attempt  it!  .  .  .  Here's 
a  footprint,  and  another." 

Yes,  and  many  another  after  that.  They  stag 
gered  on,  wet,  cold,  uncomfortable,  anxious.  The 
doctor  was  a  little  ahead  of  the  rest  of  them,  Tony 
West  came  second,  the  others  straggled  a  pace  or 
two  behind.  Suddenly  the  doctor  stopped  and  gave 
a  hasty  exclamation: 

"Good  Heavens  above!" 

They  ran  up  to  him  clustering  around  him  in  their 
eagerness,  and  their  torches  lent  their  rays  to  make 
the  thing  he  gazed  at  more  distinguishable,  while  an 
other  mile  away  at  least,  the  flames  twinkled  dimly, 
and  slowly  went  out  one  by  one  as  though  the  finger 
of  dawn  had  snuffed  them  like  candle-ends. 

"What  the  devil  is  it?"  demanded  Tony  West,  get 
ting  to  his  knees  and  peering  at  the  spot  with  nar 
rowed  eyes. 


The  Watcher  in  the  Shadow  65 

"Charred  grass.  And  the  end  of  the  footprints!" 
It  was  the  doctor  who  spoke — in  a  queer  voice  sharp 
with  excitement.  "There  has  been  a  fire  here  or 
something.  And — Wynne  went  no  farther,  appar 
ently.  The  ground  about  it  is  as  marshy  as  ever, 
and  my  own  footprint  is  perfectly  clear.  .  .  . 
What  the  dickens  do  you  make  of  it,  eh?" 

But  there  was  no  answer  forthcoming.  Every 
man  stood  still  staring  down  at  this  strange  tiling 
with  wide  eyes.  For  what  the  doctor  said  was  ab 
solute  truth.  The  footsteps  certainly  did  end  here, 
and  in  a  patch  of  charred  grass  as  big  round  as  a 
small  table.  What  did  it  mean?  What  could  it 
mean,  but  one  thing?  Somehow,  somewhere,  Wynne 
had  vanished.  It  was  incredible,  unbelievable,  and 
yet — [here  was  the  evidence  of  their  own  eyes.  From 
that  spot  onward  the  ground  was  wholly  free  of  the 
footprints  of  any  man,  woman,  or  child.  Xo  mark 
disturbed  the  sodden  mud  of  it.  And  yet — right 
here,  where  the  grasses  seemed  to  grow  tallest,  this 
patch  was  burnt  off  and  withered  as  though  with  sud 
den  heat. 

Tony  West  straightened  himself. 

"If  I  didn't  think  the  whole  business  was  a  pack  of 
lies  spun  into  a  bigger  one  by  a  lot  of  village  gossips, 
I'd — I'd  begin  to  imagine  there  was  something  in  the 
story  after  all!"  he  said,  getting  to  his  feet  and  look 
ing  at  the  white  faces  about  him.  "It's — it's  devilish 
uncanny,  Doctor!" 


66  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"It  is  that."  The  doctor  drew  a  long  breath  and 
stroked  his  beard  agitatedly.  "It's  so  devilish  un 
canny  that  one  hardly  knows  what  to  believe.  If 
this  thing  had  happened  in  the  East  one  might  have 
looked  at  it  with  a  more  fatalistic  eye.  But  here — 
in  England,  no  man  in  his  senses  could  believe  such 
a  fool's  tale  as  that  which  Nigel  told  us  to-night. 
And  yet— Wynne  has  gone,  vanished!  Never  a 
trace  of  him,  though  we'll  search  still  farther  for  a 
while,  to  make  sure!" 

They  separated  at  once,  radiating  out  from  that 
sinister  spot  and  searched  and  searched  and  searched. 
Not  a  footprint  was  to  be  found  beyond  the  spot,  not 
a  trace  of  any  living  thing.  There  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  go  back  to  Merriton  Towers  and  tell  their 
tale  to  Nigel. 

"Old  Wynne  has  gone,  and  no  mistake,"  said 
Tony  West,  as  the  men  began  slowly  to  retrace  their 
steps  across  the  marshlands,  their  faces  in  the  pale 
light  of  the  early  morning  looking  white  and  drawn 
with  the  excitement  and  strain  of  the  night.  "What 
to  make  of  it  all,  I  don't  know.  Apparently  old 
Wynne  went  out  to  see  the  Frozen  Flames  and— the 
Frozen  Flames  have  swallowed  him  up,  or  burnt  him 
up,  one  or  the  other." 

"And  yet  I  can't  hold  any  credence  in  the  thing,  no 
matter  how  hard  I  try!"  said  the  doctor,  shaking  his 
head  gravely,  as  they  trudged  on  through  the  mud 
and  mire.  "And  if  Wynne  isn't  found — well,  there'll 


The  Watcher  in  the  Shadow  67 

be  the  deuce  to  pay  with  the  authorities.  We'll  have 
to  report  to  the  police  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

"Yes,  the  village  constable  will  take  the  matter  up, 
and  knowing  the  story,  will  put  entire  faith  in  it,  and 
that's  all  the  help  we'll  get  from  him!'''  supplemented 
West  with  a  harsh  laugh.  "I  know  the  sort.  .  .  . 
Here's  the  Towers  at  last,  and  if  I  don't  make  a  mis 
take,  there's  the  face  of  old  Borkins  pressed  against 
the  window!" 

He  ran  ahead  of  the  others  and  took  the  great  stone 
steps  two  at  a  time.  But  Borkins  had  opened  the 
door  before  he  reached  it.  His  eyes  stared,  his 
mouth  sagged  open. 

"Mr.  Wynne,  sir?  You  found  'im?"  he  a.<ked 
hoarsely. 

"No.  No  trace  whatever,  Borkins.  Where's  your 
master?" 

"Sir  Nigel,  sir?  'E's  asleep,  and  snorin'  like  a 
grampus.  This  '11  be  a  shock  to  'im  sir,  for  sure. 
Mr.  Wynne— -gone  ?  'T  ain't  possible ! " 

But  Tony  had  pushed  by  him  and  thrown  open  the 
smoking-room  door.  The  warm,  heated  atmosphere 
came  to  them  comfortingly.  He  crossed  to  the  table, 
picked  up  a  decanter  and  slopped  out  a  peg  of  whisky. 
This  he  drank  off  neat.  After  that  he  felt  better. 
The  other  men  straggled  in  after  him.  He  faced 
them  with  set  lips. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "to  tell  Nigel." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   VICTIM 

DACRE  WYNNE  had  vanished,  leaving  be 
hind  him  no  trace  of  mortal  remains,  and 
only  a  patch  of  charred  grass  in  the  middle 
of  the  uninhabited  Fens  to  mark  the  spot.  And  Nigel 
Merriton,  whose  guest  the  man  was,  must  of  neces 
sity  be  told  the  fruitlessness  of  the  searchers'  self- 
appointed  task.  The  doctor  volunteered  to  do  it. 

Tony  West  accompanied  him  as  far  as  Nigel's,  and 
then  he  suddenly  recollected  that  Merriion  had 
locked  it  the  night  before.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  hammer  upon  the  panels,  or — pick  the  lock. 

"And  he'll  be  sleeping  like  a  dead  man,  if  I  know 
anything  of  sleeping  draughts,"  said  the  doctor, 
shaking  his  head.  "Got  a  penknife,  West?" 

West  nodded.  He  whipped  the  knife  out  of  his 
pocket  and  began  methodically  to  work  at  the  worn 
lock  with  all  the  precision  of  an  experienced  burglar. 
But  the  action  brought  no  smile  to  his  lips,  no  little 
mocking  jest  to  help  on  the  job.  There  was  some 
thing  grim  in  the  set  of  West's  lips,  and  in  the  tension 
of  the  doctor's  slight  figure.  Tragedy  had  stalked 
unnoticed  into  the  Towers  that  evening  and  they  had 

C3 


The  Victim  G9 

become  enmeshed  in  the  folds  of  its  cloak.  They  felt 
it  in  the  cold  clamminess  of  the  atmosphere,  in  the 
quiet  peace  of  the  long  corridors. 

Finally  the  thing  was  done.  West  turned  the 
handle  and  the  door  swung  inward.  The  doctor 
crossed  to  the  bedside  and  took  hold  of  the  sleeping 
man's  shoulder.  lie  shook  it  vigorously. 

'"Nigel!"  he  called  sharply  once  or  twice.  "Wake 
up!  Wake  up!" 

But  Merriton  never  moved.  The  performance 
was  repeated  and  the  call  was  louder. 

'  Nigel!     I  say,  wake  up — wake  up!     We've  news 

P  <  5' 

tor  you . 

The  sleeping  man  slirred  suddenly  and  wrenched 
his  shoulder  a\va  y. 

'"Let  go  OL  me,  Wynne,  damn  you!"  he  broke  out 
petulantly,  his  eyes  opening.  "I've  beaten  you  tin's 
lime,  anyhow,  so  part  of  our  score  is  marked  ou! 
Let  go,  I  say — I — I- — Doctor  Bartholomew!  What  in 
Heaven's  name's  the  matter?  I've  been  asleep, 
haven't  I?  What  is  it?  You  look  as  though  you  had 
seen,  a  ghost  I" 

He  was  thoroughly  awake  now,  and  struggled  to  a 
sitting  position.  The  doctor's  face  twisted  wryly. 

"I— wish  I  had,  Nigel,"  he  said  bitterly.  "Even 
ghosts  would  be  better  than — nothing  at  all.  We've 
been  out  searching  for  Wynne,  and  I 

"Been  cut?" 

"Yes,  across  the  Fens.    We  were  anxious.    Wynne 


70  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

didn't  come  back,  you  know,  and  so  after  we'd  got 
you  to  bed  we  thought  we'd  make  up  a  search  parly 
among  ourselves  and  look  into  the  thing.  But  we 
haven't  found  him,  Nigel.  He's  vanished — com 
pletely!" 

"Impossible!" 

Merriton  was  out  of  bed  now,  still  staring  sleepily 
at  them.  Something  in  the  boyishness  of  him  struck 
a  chord  of  sympathy  in  the  doctor's  heart.  He  alone 
of  all  of  them  had  guessed  at  the  genuineness  of 
Nigel's  fear  for  Wynne,  he  alone  had  seen  into  the 
man's  heart,  and  discovered  the  half-belief  that 
lurked  there. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  perfectly  true,"  he  said  quietly,  as 
Merriton  came  to  him  and  caught  him  by  the  arm, 
his  face  white.  "We  followed  his  tracks  across  the 
Fens — it  had  been  raining  and  it  was  extremely  easy 
to  do — until  they  suddenly  ended  in  a  patch  of  half- 
charred  grass.  It  was  uncanny!  We  made  a  further 
search  to  make  sure,  but  nothing  rewarded  our 
efforts.  Dacre  Wynne's  gone  somewhere,  and  those 
devilish  flames  of  yours  will  be  counting  another 
victim  to  their  lengthening  list  to-night.'* 

"Good  God!" 

Merriton's  lips  trembled,  and  his  fingers  dropped 
from  the  doctor's  arm. 

"But  I  tell  you  it's  impossible,  man!"  he  broke 
out  suddenly.  "  The  thing's  beyond  human  credulity, 
Doctor." 


The  Victim  71 

"Well,  be  that  as  it  may,  the  fact  remains — 
Wynne's  gone,"  returned  the  doctor  gloomily.  "Of 
course  we  must  communicate  with  the  police.  That's 
the  next  thing  to  do.  We'll  send  over  to  make  sure 
Wynne  isn't  at  the  Brcllier's  but  I  think  there  isn't 
a  chance  of  it  myself.  Where  he  did  go  beats  me 
completely!" 

"And  it  fair  beats  me,  too!"  said  Merriton,  in  a 
shocked  voice,  beginning  mechanically  to  struggle 
into  his  clothes.  "One  of  you  might  'phone  the 
police — though  what  they'll  be  able  to  do  for  us  I 
don  t  know.  It's  a  orie-horse  show  in  the  village,  and 
the  chap  who's  chief  constable  was  the  fellow  who 
told  me  of  the  other  man  that  disappeared,  and 
seemed  quite  willing  to  accept  a  supernatural  ex 
planation.  Still,  of  course,  it's  the  thing  to  be 
done,  .  .  .  And  I  actually  saw,  with  my  own 
eyes,  that  new  flame  flash  out!" 

He  said  the  last  words  in  a  sort  of  undertone,  but 
the  doctor  heard  them,  and  twitched  up  an  enquiring 
eyebrow. 

"You  saw  the  new  flame?  Oh — of  course.  And 
you — never  mind.  Our  next  move  is  to  telephone 
the  police." 

But  what  the  police  could  do  for  them  was  so 
pitifully  small  as  to  be  absurd.  Constable  Haggers 
was  a  man  whose  superstitious  fear  of  the  flames  got 
the  better  of  his  constabulary  training  in  every  way. 
He  said  he  would  do  what  he  could,  but  he  would 


72  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

certainly  attempt  nothing  until  broad  daylight .  He 
believed  the  story  in  every  particular  and  .said  that 
it  was  well-nigh  impossible  to  trace  the  vanished  man. 
"There  had  been  others,"  was  all  he  would  say,  "and 
never  a  trace  of  'em  'ave  we  ever  seen!" 

Telephoning  the  Brdliers  was  a  mere  matter  of 
minutes,  and  by  that  means  Merriton  made  perfectly 
sure  that  Wynne  had  not  put  in  an  appearance  at 
Wethersby  Hall.  Brellier  himself  answered  the 
phone,  and  said  that  he  was  just  thinking  that  as 
Wynne  hadn't  turned  up  yet,  they  must  indeed  have 
been  making  a  night  of  it  at  the  Towers. 

"However,"  he  continued,  "if  you  :-ay  you  all  re 
tired  around  about  one  o'clock,  and  Wynne  left  you 
soon  after  ten — well,  I  can't  think  what  has  become 
of  him. 

"He  went  out  to  investigate  those  devilish 
flames!"  remarked  Merriton,  as  a  rather  shamefaced 
explanation.  Then  he  fairly  heard  the  wires  jump 
with  the  force  of  Brellier's  exclamation. 

"Eh — what?  What's  that  you  say?  lie  went  out 
to  investigate  the  flames,  Merriton?  What  fool  let 
him  go?  Surely  you  kno\v  the  story?" 

"We  did.  And  we  did  our  best  to  dissuade  him, 
Mr.  Brellier,"  replied  Merriton  wearily.  "But  he 
went.  You  know  Dacre  Wynne  as  well  as  I  do.  He 
was  set  upon  going.  But  he  has  not  come  back,  and 
some  of  the  chaps  here  set  up  a  search-party  to  hunt 
for  him.  They  discovered  nothing.  Simply  some 


The  Victim  73 

charred  grass  in  the  middle  of  the  Fens  and  the  end  of 
his  footprints.  ...  So  he  didn't  come  round  to 
your  place  then?  Thanks.  I'm  awfully  sorry  to 
Slave  bothered  you,  but  you  can  understand  my 
anxiety  I  know.  I'll  keep  you  posted  as  to  any  news 
we  get.  Yes — horrible,  isn't  it?  So — so  beastly  un 
canny. 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  drawn  face. 

"Well,  Wynne  didn't  go  there,  anyway,"  he  said 
to  the  group  of  men  who  clustered  round  him.  "So 
that's  done  with.  Now  we'll  just  have  to  possess  our 
souls  in  patience,  and  see  what  Constable  Haggers 
can  do  for  us.  I  vote  we  tumble  in  for  forty  winks 
before  the  sun  gets  too  high  in  the  heavens.  It  is  the 
mo.it  reasonable  thing  to  do  in  the  circumstances." 

The  days  that  followed  brought  them  little  light 
upon  the  matter.  Wynne,  it  proved,  was  a  man 
apparently  without  relations,  and  devoid  of  friends. 
The  local  police  could  make  nothing  of  it.  They  had 
had  such  cases  before,  and  were  perfectly  willing  to 
let  the  matter  rest  where  it  was.  Interest,  once  so 
high,  began  to  flag.  The  thing  dropped  into  the 
commonplace,  and  was  soon  forgotten,  together  with 
the  man  who  had  caused  it. 

But  Nigel  was  far  from  satisfied.  That  he  and 
Dacre  Wynne  were  really  enemies,  who  had  posed  as 
friends  made  not  a  particle  of  difference.  Dacre 
Wynne  had  disappeared  during  the  brief  time  that  he 
was  a  guest  in  Merriton's  house.  The  subject  did 


74  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

not  die  with  the  owner  of  Merriton  Towers.  He 
spent  many  long  evenings  with  Doctor  Bartholomew 
talking  the  thing  over,  trying  to  reconstruct  it,  probe 
into  it,  hunt  for  new  clues,  new  anything  which  might 
lead  to  a  solution.  But  such  talks  always  came  to 
nothing.  Every  stone  had  already  been  turned,  and 
the  dry  dust  of  the  highway  afforded  little  knowledge 
to  Merriton. 

Across  the  clear  sky  of  his  happiness  a  cloud  had 
gloomed,  spoiling  for  a  time  the  perfection  of  it. 
He  could  not  think  of  marriage  while  the  mystery 
of  Dacre  Wynne's  death  remained  unsolved.  It 
seemed  unthinkable. 

Tony  West  told  him  he  was  getting  morbid  about 
it,  and  to  have  a  change. 

"Come  up  to  London  and  see  some  of  your 
friends,"  was  West's  advice.  But  Merriton  never 
took  it. 

'Toinette  seemed  the  only  person  who  understood 
how  he  felt,  and  the  knowledge  of  this  only  served  to 
draw  them  closer  together.  She.  too,  felt  that 
marriage  was  for  the  time  being  unthinkable,  and 
despite  Brellier's  constant  urging  in  that  direction, 
she  held  her  ground  firmly,  telling  him  that  they 
preferred  to  wait  awhile. 

"I'm  going  to  solve  the  blessed  thing,  'Toinette," 
Nigel  told  her  over  and  over  again  during  these  long 
weeks  and  days  that  followed,  "if  I  grow  gray -headed 
in  the  attempt.  Dacre  Wynne  was  no  true  friend  of 


The  Victim  75 

mine,  but  he  was  my  guest  at  the  time  of  his  dis 
appearance,  and  I  mean  to  find  the  reason  of  it." 

If  he  had  only  known  what  the  future  held  in  store 
for  them  both,  would  he  still  have  clung  to  his  pur 
pose?  Who  can  tell? 

It  was  at  night  that  the  thing  obsessed  him  worst. 
When  darkness  had  fallen  Merriton  would  sit,  evening 
after  evening,  looking  out  upon  that  same  scene  that 
he  hail  shown  his  companions  that  eventful  night. 
And  always  the  flames  danced  on  their  maddening 
way,  mocking  him,  holding  behind  the  screen  of  their 
brilliancy  the  key  to  Dacre  Wynne's  inexplicable  dis 
appearance.  Merritou  would  sit  and  watch  them 
for  hours,  and  sometimes  find  himself  talking  to 
them. 

What  was  the  matter  with  him?  Was  he  going 
insane?  Or  was  this  Dacre  Wynne's  abominable 
idea  of  a  revenge  for  having  stolen  'Toinette's  heart 
away  from  him?  To  have  died  and  sent  his  spirit 
back  to  haunt  the  man  he  hated  seemed  to  Merriton 
sometimes  the  answer  to  the  questions  which  con 
stantly  puzzled  him. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    SECOND    VICTIM 

THE    alterations   at    Merriton    Towers    were 
certainly  a  success,  from  the  builder's  point 
of  view  at  any  rate.     White  paint  had  helped 
to  dispel  some  of  its  gloominess,  though  there  were 
whose  who  said  that   the  whole  place   was  ruined 
thereby.     However,  it  was  certainly  an  improvement 
to  be  able  to  have  windows  that  opened,  and  to  look 
into  rooms  that  beckoned  you  with  promises  of  cczy 
inglenooks,  and  plenty  of  brilliant  sunshine. 

Borkins  looked  upon  these  improvements  with  a 
censorious  eye.  He  was  one  of  those  who  believed  in 
**lettm'  things  be";  to  whom  innovation  is  a  crime, 
and  modernity  nothing  short  of  madness.  To  him 
the  dignity  of  the  house  had  gone.  But  when  it 
came  to  Nigel  installing  a  new  staff  of  servants,  the 
good  Borkins  literally  threw  up  his  hands  and  cried 
aloud  in  anguish.  He  did  not  hold  with  frilled 
aprons,  any  more  than  he  held  with  woman  assuming 
places  that  were  not  meant  for  them. 

But  if  the  maids  annoyed  Borkins,  his  patience 
reached  its  breaking  point  when  Merriton — paying  a 
flying  visit  to  town — returned  in  company  with  a 


The  Second  Victim  77 

short,  thick-set  person,  who  spoke  with  a  harsh 
cockney  accent,  and  whom  Merriton  introduced  as 
his  "batman",  "Whatever  that  might  be,"  said  Bor- 
kins,  holding  forth  to  Dimmock,  one  of  the  under- 
grooms.  James  Collins  soon  became  a  necessary 
part  of  the  household  machinery,  a  little  cog  in  fact 
upon  which  the  great  wheel  of  tragedy  was  soon  to 
turn. 

Within  a  week  he  was  completely  at  home  in  his 
new  surroundings.  Collins,  in  fact,  was  the  per 
fect  "gentleman's  servant"  and  thus  he  liked  always 
to  think  himself.  Many  a  word  he  and  Borkins  had 
over  their  master's  likes  and  dislikes.  But  invari 
ably  Collins  won  out.  While  every  other  servant 
in  the  place  liked  him  and  trusted  him,  the  sight  of 
his  honest,  red  face  and  his  ginger  eyebrows  was 
enough  to  make  Borkins  look  like  a  thundercloud. 

The  climax  was  reached  one  night  in  the  autumn 
when  the  evening  papers  failed  to  appear  at  their 
appointed  time.  Collins  confronted  Borkins  with 
the  fact  and  got  snubbed  for  his  pains. 

"Ere  you,"  he  said — he  hadn't  much  respect  for 
Borkins   and  made  no  attempt  to  hide  the  fact— 
"what  the  dooce  'as  become  of  his  lordship's  pypers? 
'Ave  you  bin  'avin'  a  squint  at  'em,  ole  pieface? 
Jist  like  your  bloomin'  cheek!" 

"Not  so  much  of  your  impidence,  Mr.  Collins," 
retorted  Borkins.  "When  you  h'addresses  a  gentle 
man  try  to  remember  'ow  to  speak  to  'iin.  I've  'ad 


78  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

nothink  whatever  to  do  with  Sir  Nigel's  evenin' 
papers,  and  you  know  it.  If  they're  late,  well, 
wouldn't  it  be  worth  your  while  to  go  clown  to  the 
station  and  'ave  a  gentle  word  or  two  with  one  of  the 
officials  there?" 

"Oh  well,  then,  old  Fiddlefyce,"  retorted  Collins, 
with  a  good-natured  grin,  "don't  lose  yer  wool  over 
it;  you  ain't  got  any  ter  spare.  'Is  Lordship's  been 
a-arskin'  fer  'em,  and  like  as  not  they  ain't  turned  up. 
Let's  see  what's  the  time?  'Arf-past  eight."  He 
shook  his  bullet-shaped  head.  "Well,  I'll  be  doin' 
as  you  say.  Slap  on  me  'at  and  jacket  and  myke 
off  ter  the  blinkin'  stytion.  What's  the  shortest  w'y, 
Borkins,  me  beauty?" 

Borkins  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  his  face  went 
a  dull  brick  colour.  Then  he  smirked  sarcastically. 

"Like  as  not  you're  so  brave  you  wouldn't  mind 
goin'  across  the  Fens/'  he  said.  "Them  there  flames 
wouldn't  be  scarin'  such  a  'ero  as  Mr,  James  Collins 
Oh  no!  You'll  find  it  a  mile  or  so  less  than  the  three 
miles  by  road.  It's  the  shortest  cut,  but  I  don't 
recommend  it.  'Owever,  that  lies  with  you.  I'll 
tell  Sir  Nigel  where  you're  gone  if  'e  asks  me,  you 
may  be  sure!" 

"Orl  right!  Across  the  Fens  is  the  shortest,  you 
says.  Well,  I'll  try  it  ternight  and  see.  You're 
right  fer  once.  I  ain't  afraid.  It  tykes  more'n 
twiddley  little  bits  er  lights  ter  scare  James  Collins, 
I  tells  yer.  So  long." 


The  Second  Victim  79 

Borkins,  standing  at  the  window  in  the  dining 
room  and  peering  through  the  dusk  at  Collins'  sturdy 
figure  as  it  swung  past  him  down  the  drive,  bit  his  lip 
a  moment,  and  made  as  if  to  go  after  him. 

"No,  I'll  be  dangcd  if  I  do!"  he  said  suddenly.  "If 
'e  knows  such  a  lot,  well,  let  'im  take  the  risk.  I 
warned  'im  anyhow,  so  I've  done  my  bit.  The 
flames'll  do  the  rest."  And  he  laughed. 

But  James  Collins  did  not  come  back,  when  he 
ought  to  have  done,  and  the  evening  papers  arrived 
before  him,  brought  by  the  station-master's  son 
Jacob.  Jacob  had  seen  nothing  of  Collins,  and  Mer- 
riton,  who  did  not  know  that  the  man  had  gone  on 
this  errand,  made  no  remark  when  the  hours  went 
slowly  by,  and  no  sign  of  Collins  appeared. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  household  retired.  Merriton, 
still  ignorant  of  his  man's  absence,  went  to  bed  and 
slept  soundly.  The  first  knowledge  he  received  of 
Collins'  absence  was  when  Borkins  appeared  in  his 
bedroom  in  the  morning. 

"Where  the  deuce  is  Collins?"  Merriton  said  pet 
tishly,  for  he  did  not  like  Borkins,  and  they  both 
knew  it. 

"That's  exactly  what  I  'ave  been  tryin'  ter  find  out, 
sir,"  responded  Borkins,  bravely.  "E  'asn't  been 
back  since  last  night,  so  far  as  I  could  make  out." 

"  Laxt  night?  "  Merriton  sat  bolt  upright  in.  bed  and 
ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair.  "What  the 
dickens  do  vou  mean?" 


80  TJie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"Collins  went  out  last  night,  sir,  to  fetch  your 
papers.  Leastways  that  was  what  lie  said  he  was 
goin'  for,"  responded  Borkins  patiently,  "and  so  far 
as  I  knows  he  'asn't  returned  yet.  Whether  he 
dropped  into  a  public  "ouse  on  the  way  or  no  I,  I 
don't  know,  or  whether  he  took  the  short  cut  to  the 
station  across  the  Fens  isn't  for  me  to  say.  But — 'e 
'asn't  come  back  yet,  sir!" 

Merriton  looked  anxious.  Collins  had  a  strong 
hold  upon  his  master's  heart.  lie  certainly  wouldn't 
like  anything  to  happen  to  him. 

"You  mean  to  say,"  he  said  sharply,  "  Lhat  Collins 
went  out  last  night  to  fetch  my  papers  from  the  sta 
tion  arid  was  fool  enough  to  take  the  short  cut  across 
the  Fens?" 

"I  warned  him  against  doin'  so,"  said  Borkins, 
"since  'e  said  Vd  probably  go  that  way.  That  no 
Frozen  Flames  was  a-goin'  ter  frighten  'hn,  an' — an' 
'is  language  was  most  offensive.  But  I've  no  doubt 

>  4      " 

e  went. 

"Then  why  the  devil  didn't  you  tell  me  last  night?" 
exclaimed  Merriton  angrily,  jumping  out  of  bed. 
"You  knew  the — the  truth  about  Mr.  Wynne's  dis 
appearance,  and  yet  you  deliberately  let  that  man  go 
out  to  his  death.  If  anything's  happened  to  James 
Collins,  Borkins,  I'll — I'll  wring  your  damned  neck. 
Understand?" 

Borkins  went  a  shade  or  two  paler,  and  took  a  step 
backward. 


The  Second  Victim  81 

"Sir  Nigel,  sir— I- 

"When  did  Collins  go?" 

'"Arf  past  eight,  sir!"  Borkins'  voice  trembled  a 
little.  "And  believe  me  or  not,  sir,  I  did  my  best  to 
persuade  Collins  from  doin'  such  an  extremely  dan 
gerous  thing.  I  begged  'im  not  to  think  o'  doin'  it, 
but  Collins  is  pig-'eaded,  if  you'll  forgive  the  word, 
sir,  and  he  was  bent  upon  get  tin'  your  papers.  I 
swear,  sir,  I  ain't  'ad  anythin'  ter  do  with  it,  and 
when  'e  didn't  come  back  last  night  before  I  went  to 
bed  I  said  to  meself,  I  said,  'Collins  'as  dropped  into 
a  public  'ouse  and  made  a — a  ass  of  hisseif,  I  said. 
And  thought  no  more  about  it,  expectin'  he'd  be  in 
later.  But  'is  bed  'asn't  been  slept  in,  and  there  's  no 
sign  of  'im  anywhere." 

Merriton  twisted  round  upon  his  heel  and  looked 
at  the  man  keenly  for  a  moment. 

"I'm  fond  of  Collins,  Borkins,"  he  said  abruptly. 
"We've  known  each  oilier  a  long  time.  I  shouldn't 
like  anything  to  happen  to  the  chap  while  he's  in 
my  service,  that's  all.  Get  out  now  and  make 
enquiries  in  every  direction.  Have  Dmimock  go 
down  to  the  village.  And  ransack  every  public 
house  round  about.  If  you  can't  find  any  trace  of 
him—  '  his  lips  tightened  for  a  moment,  "then  I'll 
fetch  in  the  police.  I'll  get  the  finest  detective  in 
the  land  on  this  thing,  I'll  get  deck  himself  if  it 
costs  me  every  penny  I  possess,  but  I'll  have  him 
traced  somehow.  Those  devilish  flames  are  taking 


82  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

too  heavy  a  toll.  I've  readied  the  end  of  my 
tether!" 

He  waved  Borkins  out  with  an  imperious  hand, 
and  went  on  with  his  dressing,  his  heart  sick.  What 
if  Collins  had  met  with  the  same  fate  as  Dacrc  Wynne? 
What  were  those  fiendish  flames,  anyhow,  that  men 
disappeared  completely,  leaving  neither  sight  nor 
sound?  Surely  there  was  some  brain  clever  enough 
to  probe  the  mystery  of  them. 

"If  Collins  doesn't  turn  up  this  morning,"  he  told 
himself  as  he  shaved  with  a  very  unsteady  hand,  "I'll 
go  straight  up  to  London  by  the  twelve  o'clock  train 
and  straight  to  Scotland  Yard.  But  I'll  find  him— 
damn  it,  I'll  find  him." 

But  no  trace  of  James  Collins  could  be  found.  He 
was  gone— completely.  No  one  had  seen  him,  no 
one  but  Borkins  had  known  of  his  probable  journey 
across  the  Fens  at  night-time,  and  Borkins  excused 
himself  upon  the  plea  that  Collins  hadn't  actually 
said  he  was  going  that  way.  He  had  simply  vanished 
as  Dacre  Wynne  had  vanished,  as  Will  Myers  and  all 
that  long  list  of  others  had  vanished.  Eaten  up  by 
the  flames — and  in  Twentieth  Century  England! 
But  the  fact  remained.  Dacre  Wynne  had  disap 
peared,  and  now  James  Collins  had  followed  him. 
And  a  new  flame  shone  among  the  others,  a  newer, 
brighter  flame  than  any  before.  Merriton  saw  it 
himself,  that  wTas  the  devilish  part  of  it.  His  own 
eyes  had  seen  the  thing  appear,  just  as  he  had  seen 


The  Second  Victim  83 

it  upon  the  night  when  Dacre  Wynne  had  vanished. 
But  he  didn't  shoot  at  it  this  time.  Instead,  he 
packed  a  small  bag,  ran  over  and  said  good-bye  to 
'Toinette  and  told  her  he  was  going  to  have  a  day  in 
town,  but  told  her  nothing  else.  Then  he  took 
the  twelve  o'clock  train  to  town.  A  taxi  whisked 
him  to  Scotland  Yard. 


CHAPTER  X 

—AND  THE   LADY 

ND  this  was  tlic  extraordinary  chain  of  events 
which  brought  young  Men-Ron  into  Mr. 
Narkom's  office  that  day  while  Cleek  was 
sitting  there,  and  on  being  introduced  as  "Mr.  Head 
land"  heard  the  story  from  Sir  Nigel's  lips. 

As  he  came  to  the  last  "And  no  trace  of  either 
body  has  ever  been  found,"  Cleek  suddenly  switched 
round  in  his  chair  and  exclaimed: 

"An  extraordinary  rigmarole  altogether!"  Meet 
ing  Merriton's  astonished  eyes  with  his  own  keen 
ones,  he  went  on:  "The  flames,  of  course,  are  a  plant 
of  some  sort.  That  goes  without  saying.  But  the 
thing  to  find  out  is  what  they're  there  for  to  hide. 
When  you've  discovered  that,  you'll  have  got  half  way 
to  the  truth,  and  the  rest  will  follow  as  a  matter  of 
course.  .  .  .  What's  that,  Mr.  Narkorn?  Yes, 
I'll  lake  the  case,  Sir  Nigel.  My  name's  Cleek — 
Hamilton  Cleek,  at  your  service.  Now  let's  hear  the 
thing  all  over  again,  please.  I've  one  or  two  ques 
tions  I'd  like  to  ask." 

Merriton  left  Scotland  Yard  an  hour  later,  lighter 
in  heart  than  he  had  been  for  some  time — ever  since, 

84 


—And  the  Lady  85 

in  fact,  Dacrc  Wynne's  tragic  disappearance  had  cast 
such  a  gloom  over  his  lii'e's  happiness.  He  had  un 
burdened  his  soul  to  Cieek — absolutely.  And  Cleek 
had  treated  the  confession  with  a  decent  sort  of 
respect  which  was  enough  to  win  any  chap  over  to 
him.  Merriton  in  fact  had  found  in  Cleek  a  friend  as 
well  as  a  detective.  He  had  been  a  little  astonished 
at  his  general  get-up  and  appearance,  but  Merriton 
had  heard  of  his  peculiar  birthright,  and  fell  that 
the  man  himself  was  capable  of  almost  anything. 
Cerlainly  he  proved  full  of  sympathetic  under 
standing. 

Cleek  understood  the  ground  upon  which  he  stood 
wiih  regard  to  his  friendship  with  Dacre  "Wynne.  He 
had,  with  a  wonderful  intuition,  sensed  the  peculiar 
influence  of  the  man  upon  Nigel — this  by  look  and 
gesture  rather  than  by  use  of  tongue  and  speech. 
And  Cleek  had  already  drawn  his  own  conclusions. 
He  heard  of  Nigel's  engagement  to  Antoinette 
Brellier,  and  of  how  Dacre  Wynne  had  taken  it, 
heard  indeed  ail  the  little  personal  things  which 
Merriton  had  never  told  to  any  man,  and  certainly 
hadn't  intended  telling  to  this  one. 

But  that  was  C leek's  way.  He  secured  a  man's 
confidence  and  by  that  method  got  at  the  truth.  A 
bond  of  friendship  had  sprung  up  between  them,  and 
Cleek  and  Mr.  Narkom  had  promised  that  before  a 
couple  of  days  were  over,  they  would  put  in  an  ap 
pearance  at  Fetchworth,  and  look  into  things  more 


86  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

closely.  It  was  agreed  that  they  were  to  pose  as 
friends  of  Sir  Nigel,  since  Cleek  felt  that  in  that  \vay 
he  could  pursue  his  investigations  unsuspected,  and 
make  more  headway  in  the  case. 

But  there  was  but  one  thing  Nigel  hadn't  spoken 
of,  and  that  was  the  very  foolish  and  ridiculous  action 
of  his  upon  that  fateful  evening  of  the  dinner  party. 
Only  he  and  Doctor  Bartholomew — who  was  as 
close-mouthed  as  the  devil  himself  over  some  things — 
knew  of  the  incident  of  the  pistol-shooting,  so  far  as 
Merriton  was  aware.  And  the  young  man  was  too 
ashamed  of  the  whole  futile  affair  and  what  it  very 
apparently  proved  to  the  listener — that  he  had 
certainly  drunk  more  than  was  good  for  him— -to 
wish  any  one  else  to  share  in  the  absurd  little  secret. 
It  could  have  no  bearing  upon  the  affair,  and  if 
'Toinette  got  to  hear  of  it,  well,  he'd  look  all  sorts  of  a 
fool,  and  possibly  be  treated  to  a  sermon — a  prospect 
which  he  did  not  relish  in  the  slightest. 

As  he  left  the  Yard  and  lurried  into  the  keen 
autumn  sunshine,  he  lifted  his  face  to  the  skies  and 
thanked  the  stars  that  he  had  come  to  London  after 
all  and  placed  things  in  proper  hands.  There  was 
nothing  now  for  him  to  do  but  to  go  back  to  Merriton 
Towers  and  as  expeditiously  as  possible  make  up  for 
the  day  lost  from  'Toinette. 

So,  after  a  visit  to  a  big  confectioners  in  Regent 
Street,  and  another  to  a  little  jeweller  in  Piccadilly, 
Merriton  got  into  the  train  at  Waterloo,  carrying  his 


—And  the  Lady  87 

parcels  with  a  happy  heart.  He  got  out  at,  Fetch- 
worth  station  three  hours  later,  hailed  the  only  hack 
that  stood  there— for  he  had  forgotten  to  apprise 
any  one  at  the  Towers  of  his  quick  return — and  drove 
straightway  to  Withersby  Hall. 

'Tomette  was  at  the  window  as  he  swung  open  the 
great  gate.  When  she  saw  him  she  darted  away  and 
came  flying  down  the  drive  to  meet  him. 

The  contents  of  the  various  packages  made  her 
happy  as  a  child,  and  it  was  some  time  after  they 
reached  the  house  that.  Nigel  asked  some  question 
concerning  her  uncle. 

Her  face  clouded  ever  so  little,  and  for  the  first 
time  Nigel  noticed  that  she  was  pale. 

"Uncle  has  gone  away  for  a  few  days,"  she  replied. 
"He  said  it  was  business — what  would  you?  But  I 
told  him  I  should  be  lonesome  in  this  great  house,  and 
I — I  am  so  frightened  at  those  horrible  little  flames 
that  twinkle  twinkle  all  night  long.  I  cannot  sleep 
when  I  am  alone,  Nigel.  I  am  a  baby  I  know,  but  I 
cannot  help  it.  It  makes  me  feel  so  afraid!" 

As  was  usual  in  moments  of  emotion  with  'Toinette, 
her  accent  became  more  pronounced.  He  stroked 
her  hair  with  a  gentle  hand,  as  though  she  were  in 
very  truth  the  child  she  tried  not  to  be. 

"Poor  little  one!  I  wish  I  could  come  across  and 
put  up  here  for  the  night.  Hang  conventions,  any 
way!  And  then  too  I  have  to  make  ready  for  some 
visitors  who  will  be  down  to-morrow  or  the  next  day." 


88  The  Riddle  of  tfie  Frozen  Flame 

"Visitors,  Nigel?" 

"Yes,  dear.  I've  a  couple  of — friends  coming  to 
spend  a  short  time  with  me.  Chaps  I  met  in  London 
to-day." 

"What  did  you  go  up  for,  Nigel — really?" 

He  coloured  a  little,  and  was  thankful  that  she 
turned  away  at  that  moment  to  straighten  the  collar 
of  her  blouse.  He  didn't  like  lying  to  the  woman  lie 
was  going  to  marry.  But  he  had  given  his  word  to 
deck. 

"Oh,"  he  said  off-handedly.  "I -I  went  to  my 
tailor's.  And  then  stepped  in  to  buy  you  that  little 
trinket  and  your  precious  chocs,  and  came  along 
home  again.  Met  these  fellows  on  my  way  across 
town.  Rather  nice  chaps — one  of  'em,  anyhow. 
1'sed  to  know  some  friends  of  friends  of  his,  girl  called 
Ailsa  Lome.  And  the  other  one  happened  to  be 
there  so  I  asked  him,  too.  They  won't  worry  you 
much, 'Toinette.  They're  frightfully  keen  aboui  the 
country,  and  will  be  sure  to  go  out  shoo! in'  ,'iiid 
snuffin'  round  like  these  town  johnnies  always  do 
when  they  get  in  places  like  this.  .  .  .  WelL  as 
Mr.  Brellier  isn't  here  I  suppose  I'd  better  be  making 
my  wray  home  again.  Wish  we  were  married,  'Toi 
nette.  There'd  be  no  more  of  these  everlasting 
separations  then.  No  more  nightmares  for  you, 
little  one.  Only  happiness  and  joy,  and — and  heaps 
of  other  rippin'  things.  Never  mind,  we'll  make  it 
soon,  won't  we?" 


—And  the  Lady  89 

She  raised  her  face  suddenly  and  her  eyes  met  his. 
There  was  a  haunted  look  in  them  that  made  him 
draw  closer,  his  o\vn  face  anxious. 

"What  is  it,  dear?''  he  said  in  a  low,  worried  tone. 

"Only — Dacre  Wynne.  Always  Dacre  Wynne 
these  days,"  she  replied  unsteadily.  "Do  you  know, 
Nigel,  I  am  a  silly  girl,  I  know,  but  somehow  I  dare 
not  think  of  marriage  with  you  until — everything  is 
finally  cleared  up,  and  his  death  or  disappearance,  or 
whatever  the  dreadful  affair  was,  discovered.  I  feel 
iu  some  inexplicable  way  responsible.  It  is  as  if  his 
spirit  were  standing  between  us  and  our  happiness. 
Tell  me  1  am  foolish,  please." 

"You  are  more  than  foolish,"  said  Nigel  obedi 
ently,  and  laughed  carelessly  to  show  her  how  he 
treated  the  thing.  But  in  his  heart  he  knew  her 
feelings,  knew  them  and  fully  understood.  It  was 
exactly  as  he  had  felt  about  it  also.  The  bond  that 
bound  Dacre  Wynne's  life  to  his  had  not  yet  been 
snapped,  the  mystery  of  his  disappearance  seemed 
only  to  strengthen  it.  He  wondered  dully  when  he 
would  ever  feel  free  again,  and  then  laughed  inwardly 
a  I  himself  for  making  a  farce  of  the  whole  thing, 
for  building  a  mountain  out  of  a  stupid  little  molehill. 
And  'Toinette  was  helping  him.  They  were  both 
unutterably  foolish.  Anyhow,  Cleek  was  coming 
soon  to  clear  matters  up.  He  wished  with  all  his 
heart  that  he  might  tell  'Toinette,  and  thus  relieve  the 
tension  of  her  mind,  but  he  had  given  his  word  to 


90  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Cleck,  and  with  a  man  of  his   type  his  word  was 
sacred. 

So  he  kissed  her  good-bye  and  laughed,  and  went 
back  to  Merriton  Towers  to  prepare  for  their  coming. 
But  the  cloud  had  dropped  across  his  horizon  again, 
and  the  sun  wyas  once  more  obscured.  There  was  no 
smile  upon  his  lips  as  he  clanged  the  great  front  door 
to  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    SECRET    OF    THE    FLAMES 

kETCinVORTH,  as  everybody  knows,  lies 
in  that  part  of  the  Fen  district  of  Lincoln 
shire  that  borders  on  the  coast,  and  in  the 
curve  of  its  motherhke  arm  Saltfleet  Bay,  a  tiny 
shipping  centre  with  miniature  harbour,  drowses  its 
days  in  pleasant  idleness. 

And  so  it  was  that  upon  the  morning  of  Cleek's 
and  Mr.  Narkonfs  arrival  at  Merriton  Towers. 
They  came  disguised  as  two  idlers  interested  in  the 
surrounding  country,  after  having  satiated  them 
selves  at  the  fountain  of  London's  gaieties,  and  bore 
the  pseudonyms  of  "George  Headland"  and  "Mr. 
Gregory  Lake"  respectively.  Cleek  himself  wras 
primed,  so  to  speak,  on  every  point  of  the  landscape. 
He  knew  all  about  Fetchworth  that  there  was  to 
know— saving  the  secret  of  the  Frozen  Flames,  and 
that  he  was  expected  to  know  very  soon — and  the 
traflic  of  Sallfleet  Bay  and  its  tiny  harbour  was  an 
open  book  to  him. 

Even  Withers  by  Hall  and  its  environs  had  had  the 
same  close  intensive  study,  and  everything  that  was 
to  be  learnt  from  guide-books,  tourists'  enquiry 

91 


92  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

offices  and  the  like,  was  hidden  away  in  the  inner 
most  recesses  of  his  remarkable  brain. 

Borkins,  standing  at  the  smoking-room  window — - 
a  favourite  haunt  of  his  from  which  he  was  able  to  see 
without  too  ostensibly  being  seen — noted  their  com 
ing  up  the  broad  driveway,  with  something  of  dis 
favour  in  his  look.  Merriton  had  given  him  certain 
directions  only  the  night  before,  and  Borkins  was  a 
keen-sighted  man.  Also,  the  little  fat  johnny  at  any 
rate,  didn't  quite  look  the  type  of  man  that  the  Merri- 
ton's  were  in  the  habit  of  entertaining  at  the  Towers, 

However,  he  opened  the  door  with  a  flourish,  and 
told  the  gentlemen  that  "Sir  Xigel  is  in  the  drorin'- 
room,"  whither  he  led  them  with  much  pomp. 

("leek  took  in  the  place  at  a  glance.  Noted  the 
wide,  deep  hallway;  the  old-fashioned  outlines  of  the 
house,  smartened  up  freshly  by  the  hands  of  modern 
workmen;  the  set  of  each  door  and  window  that  he 
passed,  and  stowed  away  these  impressions  in  the 
pigeon-holes  of  his  mind.  As  he  proceeded  to  the 
drawing-room  he  set  out  in  his  mind's  eye  the  whole 
scene  of  that  night's  occurrence  as  had  been  related 
to  him  by  Sir  Nigel.  There  was  the  smoking-room 
door,  open  and  showing  the  type  of  room  behind  it; 
there  the  hall-stand  from  which  Dacre  Wynne  had 
fatefully  wrenched  his  coat  and  hat,  to  go  lurching 
out  into  oblivion,  half-drunk  and  maddened  with 
something  more  than  intoxication — if  Merriton  had 
told  his  story  truly.,  and  Cleek  believed  he  had. 


The  Secret  of  the  Flames  93 

It  was,  in  fact,  in  that  very  smoking-room  that  the 
legend  which  had  led  up  to  the  tragedy  had  been 
told.  Hmm.  There  certainly  was  much  to  be 
cleared  up  here  while  he  was  wailing  for  that  other 
business  at  the  War  Office  to  adjust  itself.  He 
wouldn't  find  time  hanging  heavily  upon  his  hands 
there  was  no  doubt  of  that,  and  the  thought  that  this 
man  who  had  come  to  him  for  help  was  a  one-time 
friend  of  Ailsa  Lome's,  the  one  dear  woman  in  the 
world,  added  fuel  to  the  fire  of  his  already  awakened 
interest. 

He  greeted  Merriton  with  all  th"  bored  ennui  of 
the  part  he  had  adopted,  during  such  time  as  he  was 
under  Borkhis'  watchful  eye.  Even  Mr.  Narkom 
played  his  par!  creditably,  and  won  a  glance  of 
approval  from  Ins  justly  celebrated  ally. 

"Hello,  old  chap,"  said  Cleek,  extending  a  hand, 
and  screwing  a  monocle  still  far!  her  into  his  left  eye. 
"Awfully  pleased  to  see  you,  doncherknow.  Devil 
ish  long  journey,  what?  Beastly  fine  place  you've 
got  here,  I  must  say.  What  you  think,  Lake?" 

Merriton  gasped,  bit  his  lip,  and  then  suddenly 
realizing  who  the  gentleman  thus  addressing  him 
was,  made  an  attempt  at  the  right  sort  of  reply. 

"Er — yes,  yes,  of  course,"  he  responded,  though 
somewhat  at  random,  for  this  absolutely  new  crea 
ture  that  Cleek  had  become  rather  took  his  breath 
away.  "Afraid  you're  very  tired  and  all  that.  Cold, 
Mr.— er  Headland?" 


94  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Cleek  frowned  at  the  slight  hesitation  before  the 
name.  lie  didn't  want  to  take  charccs  of  any  one 
guessing  Ids  identity  and  Borkins  was  stiU  half-way 
within  the  room,  aud  probably  had  sharp  ears.  His 
sort  el  man  had! 

"Not  very,"  he  responded,  as  the  door  closed  be 
hind  the  butler.  "At  least  that  is.  Sir  Nigel,"— 
speaking  in  his  natural  voice— -"it  really  was  pretty 
chilly  coming  down.  Winter's  scttii;g  in  fast,  you 
know.  That  your  man?" 

lie  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  closed 
door,  and  twitched  an  enquiring  eyebrovr. 

Merriton  nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "that's  Borkins.  Looks  a  trust 
worthy  specimen,  doesn't  he?  For  my  part  I  don't 
trust  him  farther  than  I  can  see  him,  Mr.  —  er — Head 
land  (awfully  sorry  but  I  keep  forgetting  your  name 
somehow).  He's  too  shifty-eyed  for  me.  What 
do  you  think?" 

"  Tell  you  better  when  I've  had  a  good  look  at  him," 
responded  Cleek,  guardedly.  "And  lots  of  honest 
men  are  shifty-eyed,  Sir  Nigel,  and  vice  versa.  That 
doesn't  count  for  anything,  you  know.  Well,  my 
dear  Mr.  Lake,  finding  your  part  a  bit  too  much  for 
you?  "  he  added,  with  a  laugh,  turning  to  Mr.  Narkom, 
who  was  sitting  on  the  extreme  edge  of  his  chair, 
mournfully  fingering  his  collar,  which  was  higher 
and  tighter  than  the  somewhat  careless  affair  which 
he  usually  adopted.  "Never  mind.  As  the  poet  sings, 


The  Secret  of  the  Flames  95 

'All  the  world's  a  stage,  and  all  the  men  and  women, 
etc.'  You're  simply  one  of  'em,  now.  Try  to  re 
member  that.  And  remember,  also,  that  the  eyes  of 
the  gallery  are  not  always  upon  you.  Sir  Nigel,  I  ask 
you,  isn't  our  friend's  make-up  the  perfection  of  the 
— er — elderly  man-about-town?  " 

Sir  Nigel  laughingly  had  to  admit  that  it  was, 
whereupon  Mr.  Narkom  blushed  exceedingly,  and— 
the  ice  was  broken  as  deck  had  intended  it  should  be. 

They  adjourned  to  the  smoking-room,  where  a 
huge  log-fire  burnt  in  the  grate,  and  easy  chairs  in 
vited.  They  discussed  the  topics  of  the  day  with 
evident  relish  during  such  time  as  Borkins  was  in  the 
room,  and  smoked  their  cigars  with  the  air  of  men  to 
whom  the  hours  were  as  naught,  and  life  simply  a 
chessboard  to  move  their  little  pieces  upon  as  they 
willed.  But  how  soon  they  were  to  cry  checkmate 
upon  this  case  which  they  were  all  investigating,  even 
(."leek  did  not  know.  Then  of  a  sudden  he  looked  up 
from  his  task  of  studying  the  fire  wilh  knitted  brows. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said  ofF-handedly,  "I  hope  you 
don't  mind.  My  man  will  be  coming  down  by  the 
next  train  with  our  traps.  I  never  travel  without 
him,  he's  such  a  useful  beggar.  You  can  manage  to 
put  him  up  somewhere,  I  suppose?  I  was  a  fool  not 
to  have  mentioned  it  before,  but  the  lad  entirely 
slipped  my  memory.  He  helps  me,  too,  in  other 
things,  and  there  is  always  a  good  deal  to  be  learned 
from  the  servants'  hall,  you  know,  Sir  Nigel. 


96  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

You  can  manage  with  Dollops,  can't  you?  Other 
wise  he  can  put  up  at  the  village  inn." 

Merriton  shook  his  head  decisively. 

"Of  course  not,  Mr.  Headland.  Wouldn't  hear 
of  such  a  thing.  Anybody  who  is  going  to  be  useful 
to  you  in  this  case  is,  as  you  know,  absolutely  wel 
come  to  Merriton  Towers.  He  won't  get  much  out 
of  Borkins  though,  I  don't  mind  telling  you." 

"Hmm.  Well  that  remains  to  be  seen,  doesn't  it, 
Mr.  Narkom?"  returned  Cleek,  with  a  smile.  "Dol 
lops  has  a  way.  And  he  knows  it.  I'll  warrant 
there  won't  be  much  that  Borkins  can  keep  from  the 
sharp  little  devil!  Well,  it  seems  to  be  getting  dusk 
rapidly,  Sir  Nigel,  what  about  those  flames  now,  eh? 
I'd  like  to  have  a  look  at  'em  if  it's  possible." 

Merriton  screwed  his  head  round  to  the  window, 
and  noted  the  gathering  gloom  which  the  fire  and  the 
electric  lights  within  had  managed  to  neutralize. 
Then  he  got  to  his  feet.  There  was  a  trace  of  ex 
citement  in  his  manner.  Here  was  the  moment  he 
had  been  waiting  for,  and  here  the  master-mind  which, 
if  anything  ever  could,  must  unravel  this  fiendish 
mystery  that  surrounded  two  men's  disappearances 
and  a  group  of  silly,  flickering  little  flames. 

He  turned  from  the  window  with  his  eyes  bright. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  rapidly.  "They're  just  be- 
ginnin'  to  appear.  See  'em?  M.r.  Cleek,  see  'em? 
Now  tell  me  what  the  dickens  they  are  and  how  they 
are  connected  with  Dacre  Wynne 's  disappearance." 


The  Secret  of  the  Flames  97 

Cleek  got  to  his  feet  slowly,  and  strode  over  to  the 
window.  In  the  gathering  gloom  of  the  early  winler 
night,  the  flames  were  flashing  out  one  by  one,  here 
and  there  and  everywhere  hanging  low  against  1he 
grass  across  the  bar  of  horizon  directly  in  front  of 
them.  Cleek  stared  at  them  for  a  long  time.  Mr. 
Narkom  coming  up  behind  him  peered  out  over  his 
shoulder,  rubbed  his  eyes,  looked  again  and  gave  out 
a  hasty  "God  bless  my  soul!"  of  genuine  astonish 
ment,  then  dropped  into  silence  again,  his  eyes  upon 
Cleek's  face.  Sir  Nigel,  too,  was  watching  that  face, 
his  own  nervous,  a  trifle  distraught. 

But  Cleek  stood  there  at  the  window  with  his  hands 
in  his  trousers'  pockets,  humming  a  little  tune  and 
watching  this  amazing  phenomenon  which  a  whole 
village  had  believed  to  be  witchcraft,  as  though  the 
thing  surprised  him  not  one  whit :  as  though,  in  fact, 
he  was  a  trifle  amused  at  it.  \Vhich  indeed  he  was. 

Finally  he  swung  round  upon  his  heels  and  looked 
at  each  of  the  faces  in  turn,  his  own  broadening  into 
a  grin,  his  eyes  expressing  incredulity,  wonderment, 
and  lastly  mirth.  At  length  he  spoke: 

"Gad!"'  he  ejaculated  with  a  little  whistle  of  as 
tonishment.  "You  mean  to  tell  me  that  a  whole  town 
ship  has  been  hanging  by  the  heels,  so  to  speak,  upon 
as  ridiculously  easy  an  affair  as  that?"  He  jerked 
his  thumb  outward  toward  the  flames  and  threw 
back  his  head  with  a  laugh.  "  Where  is  your  'general 
knowledge'  which  von  learnt  at  school,  man?  Didn't 


98  The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

they  teach  you  any?  What  amazes  me  most  is  that 
there  are  others — forgive  me- — equally  as  ignorant. 
Want  to  know  what  those  flames  are,  eh?" 

"Well,  rather!" 

"Well,  well,  just  to  think  that  you've  actually  been 
losing  sleep  on  it!  Shows  what  asses  we  human  be 
ings  are,  doesn't  it?  No  offence  meant ,  of  course.  As 
for  you,  Mr.  Narkom — or  Mr.  Gregory  Lake,  as  I 
must  remember  to  call  you  for  the  good  of  the  cause — 
I'm  ashamed  of  you,  I  am  indeed!  You  ought  io 
know  better,  a  man  of  your  years!" 

"But  the  flames,  Cleek,  the  flames!"  There  was 
a  tension  in  Merriton's  voice  that  spoke  of  nerves 
near  to  the  breaking  point.  Instantly  Cleek  was 
serious.  He  reached  out  a  hand  and  laid  it  upon  the 
young  man's  shoulder.  Merriton  was  trembling, 
but  he  steadied  under  the  grip,  just  as  it  was  meant 
that  he  should. 

"See  here,"  Cleek  said,  bluntly,  "you  oughtn't  to 
work  yourself  up  into  such  a  state.  It's  not  good  for 
you;  you'll  go  all  to  pieces  one  of  these  days.  Those 
flames,  eh?  Why  I  thought  any  one  knew  enough 
about  natural  phenomena  to  answer  that  question. 
But  it  seems  I'm  wrong.  Those  flames  are  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  marsh  gas,  Sir  Nigel,  evolved  from 
the  decomposition  of  vegetation,  and  therefore  only 
found  in  swampy  regions  such  as  this.  Whew !  and  to 
think  that  here  is  a  community  that  has  been  bowing 
down  to  these  things  as  symbols  from  another  world! " 


The  Secret  of  the  Flame*  99 

"Marsh  gas,  Mr. " 

"Headland,  please.  It  is  wiser,  and  will  help 
better  to  remember  when  the  necessity  arises,"  re 
turned  Cleek,  with  a  smile.  ''Yes,  that  is  all  they 
are — the  outcome  of  marsh  gas." 

"But  what  is  marsh  gas,  Mr. — Headland?"  Mer- 
riton's  voice  was  still  strained. 

Cleek  motioned  to  a  chair. 

"Better  sit  down  to  it,  my  young  friend,"  he  said, 
gently.  "Because,  to  one  who  isn't  interested,  it  is 
an  extremely  dull  subject.  However,  it  is  better 
that  you  should  know7— as  you  don't  seem  to  have 
learnt  it  at  school.  Here  goes:  marsh  gas,  or  me 
thane  as  it  is  sometimes  called,  is  the  first  of  the 
group  of  hydrocarbons  known  as  paraffins.  Whether 
that  conveys  anything  to  you  I  don't  know.  But 
you've  asked  for  knowledge  and  I  mean  you  to  have 
it."  He  smiled  again,  and  Merriton  gravely  shook  his 
head,  while  Mr.  Narkom,  dropping  for  the  time  being 
his  air  of  pompous  boredom,  became  the  interested 
listener  in  every  line  oi  his  ample  proportions. 

''Go  on,  old  chap,"  he  said  eagerly. 

"Methane,"  said  Cleek,  serenely,  "is  a  colourless, 
absolutely  odourless  gas,  slightly  soluble  in  water. 
It  burns  with  a  yellowish  flame — which  golden  tinge 
you  have  r.o  doubt  noticed  in  these  famous  flames 
of  yours — with  the  production  of  carbonic  acid  and 
water.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  oil  wells  in  America, 
and  also  in  the  Caucasus,  if  my  memory  doesn't  fail 


100         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

me,  the  gas  escapes  from  the  earth,  and  in  some  dis 
tricts — particularly  in  Baku — it  has  actually  been 
burning  for  years  as  sacred  fires.  A  question  of 
atmosphere  and  education,  you  see,  Sir  Nigel." 

"Good  Heavens!  Then  you  mean  to  say  that 
those  beastly  things  out  there  are  not  lit  by  any 
human  or  superhuman  agency  at  ail!"  exploded  Mer- 
riton  at  this  juncture.  "And  that  they  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  vanishing  of  'Wynne  and 
Collins?" 

Cleek  shook  his  head  emphatically. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "but  I  didn't  say  that.  The 
first  part  of  the  sentence  I  agree  wilh  eni  irely.  Those 
so-called  flames  are  lit  only  by  the  hand  ol  M^  In 
finite.  And  the  Infinite  is  always  mysterious,  Sir 
Nigel.  But  as  to  whether  they  have  any  bearing 
upon  the  disappearances  of  those  two  men  is  a  horse 
of  another  colour.  We'll  look  into  that  later  on.  In 
coal-mines  marsh  gas  is  considered  highly  dangerous, 
and  the  miners  call  it  fire-damp.  But  thai  is  by  the 
way.  What  enters  into  the  immediate  question  is 
the  fact  that  there  is  a  patch  of  charred  grass  upon 
the  Fens  where  you  say  the  vanished  man,  Dacre 
Wynne's  footprints  suddenly  ended.  Ilmm." 

He  stopped  speaking  suddenly,  and  getting  up 
again  crossed  over  to  the  window.  lie  stood  for  a 
moment  looking  out  of  it,  his  brows  drawn  down, 
his  face  set  in  the  stern  lines  that  betokened  concen 
tration  of  thought. 


The  Secret  of  the  Flames  101 

Mr.  Narkom  and  Merriton  watched  him  with  some 
thing  of  wonder  in  their  eyes.  To  Merriton,  at  any 
rate,  who  really  knew  so  little  of  Clock's  unique  and 
powerful  mind,  the  fact  of  a  policeman  having  such 
extensive  information  was  surprising  in  the  extreme. 

''You  don't  think,  then,"  he  said,  breaking  the 
silence  that  had  fallen  upon  them,  "that  this — er — 
mar.-.li  gas  could  have  caused  the  death  of  Wynne 
and  Collins?  Burnt  'em.  alive,  so  io  speak?" 

Clock  did  not  move  at  this  question.  They 
merely  saw  his  shoulders  twitch  as  though  he  didn't 
wish  to  he  bothered  at  the  moment . 

"Don't  know,"  he  said  laconically,  "and  if  that 
were  true,  where  are  the  bodies?  .  .  .  Gad!  Just 
a-  I  thought!  Come  here,  gentlemen,  this  may  in 
terest  you.  See  that  flame  lln-re!  It's  no  more 
natural  marsh  gas  than  I  am !  There's  human  agency 
all  right,  Sir  Nigel.  There's  natural  marsh  gas 
and  there  are — other  things  as  well.  Those  marsh 
lights  are  being  augmented.  But  for  what  purpose? 
\\hat  reason?  That's  the  thing  we've  got  to  find 
out." 


CHAPTER  XII 

<4AS   A    THIEF   IN    THE    NIGHT— 

\IIE  arrival  of  Dollops  lighted  a  spark  of 
great  interest  in  the  servants'  hall.  The 
newly  engaged  maids  accepted  him  for  his 
youth  and  sharp  manners,  as  an  innovation  which 
they  rather  fancied  than  otherwise.  Borkins  alone 
stood  aloof.  It  seemed  to  the  man  that  here,  in 
Dollops'  lithe,  young  form,  in  the  very  ginger  of 
his  carrotty  hair,  in  the  stridency  of  this  cockney 
accent — which  Cleek  had  endeavoured  to  eradicate 
without  a  particle  of  success — was  the  reembodi- 
ment  of  the  older,  shorter,  more  mature  James 
Collins.  To  hear  him  speak  in  that  sharp,  young 
voice  of  his  was  to  make  the  hair  upon  one's  neck 
prick  in  supernatural  discomfort.  It  was  as 
though  James  Collins  had  come  back  to  life  again 
in  the  form  of  this  East  Side  youngster,  who  was 
so  extremely  unlike  his  drawling,  over-pampered 
master. 

But  Dollops  had  been  primed  for  his  task,  and  set 
to  work  at  it  with  a  will. 

"Been  in  these  'ere  parts  long,  Mr.  Borkins?"  he 
queried  as  they  all  sat  at  supper,  and  he  himself 


"yi,s-  a  Thief  in  the  Night-  103 

munched  bread  and  butter  and  fish  paste  with  a 
vigour  thai  was  lacking  in  only  one  quality — manners. 

Borkins  sniffed,  and  passed  up  his  cup  to  the  house 
keeper. 

"Before  you  were  born,  I  dessay,"  he  responded 
tartly. 

"Is  that  so,  Methuselah?''  Dollops  gave  a  little 
boyish  giggle  at  sight  of  the  butler's  face.  "Well, 
se<-in'  as  Tm  gettin'  along  in  life,  you  must  be  a  good 
way  pars  I.  the  meridian,  if  yer  don't  mind  my  sayin' 
so.  .  .  .  Funny  thing,  on  the  way  down  I  run 
aeiot.-.  a  chap  woi's  visitin'  pals  in  this  'ere  village, 
and  V  pulls  me  the  si  ranges  t  yarn  as  ever  a  body 
'card.  Summink  to  do  wiv  flames  it  were — Frozen 
Fhiuies  or  icicles  or  frost  of  some  kind.  But  'e  was 
so  full  up  of  mystery  that  there  weren't  no  gettin' 
nuffin  out  er*  im.  Any  one  'ere  tell  me  the  story?  'E 
fair  got  me  curiosity  fired,  'e  did!" 

A  glance  laden  with  sinister  meaning  flew  around 
the  table.  Borkins  cleared  his  throat  as  every  eye 
fastened  itself  upon  him,  and  he  swelled  visibly  be 
neath  his  brass-buttoned  waistcoat. 

"If  you're  any  wiser  than  you  look,  young  man, 
you'll  leave  well  alone,  and  not  go  stickin'your  fingers 
in  other  peoples'  pie!"  he  gave  out  sententiously. 
"Yes,  there  is  a  story — and  a  very  unpleasant  one, 
too.  If  you  use  your  eyes  to-night  and  look  out 
of  the  smoking-room  window  as  dusk  conies  on, 
you'll  see  the  Frozen  Flame  for  ycrself,  and  won't 


104         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

want  to  be  arskin'  me  any  fool  questions  about  it. 
One  of  the  servants  'ere — and  a  rude,  unmannerly 
London  creetur  V  was  too! — disappeared  a  while  ago, 
goin'  out  across  the  Fens  after  night-time  when  'e 
was  warned  not  to.  Never  seen  a  sight  of  'im  since— 
though  I'm  not  mournin'  any,  as  you  kin  see!" 

"(to  on!"  Dollops'  voice  expressed  incredulity, 
amazement,  and  an  awed  interest  thai  rather  fiat- 
tered  the  butler. 

"True  as  I'm  siftin'  'ere!"  he  responded  grimly. 
"And  before  that  a  friend  of  Sir  Nigel's — a  fine,  big 
upstandin'  man  'e  were,  name  of  Wynne — went  I  he 
same  way.  Got  a  little  the  worse  for  drink  and 
laughed  at  the  story.  Said  Vd  go  out  and  inves 
tigate  for  'imself.  'E  never  come  bud;  From  that 
day  to  this!" 

"Gawd's  truf!  'Ow  oriul!  You  won't  find  yer 
'umhle  a  'ankerin'  after  the  fresh  air  come  night 
time!"  broke  in  Dollops  with  a  little  shiver  of  ter 
ror  that  was  remarkably  real.  "I'll  keep  to  me  downy 
thank  you,  an'  as  you  say,  Mr.  Borkins,  leave  well 
enough  alone.  You're  a  wise  gentleman,  you  are!" 

Borkins,  flattered,  still  further  expanded. 

"I  won't  say  as  all  you  cockney  chaps  are  the  same 
as  Collins,"  he  returned  magnanimously,  "for  it 
takes  all  kinds  ter  make  a  world.  If  you  feels  in 
clined  some  time,  I'll  walk  you  down  to  the  Pig  and 
Whistle  and  you  shall  'ave  a  word  or  two  wish  a  chap 
I  know.  'E'll  toll  yer  somcthink  that'll  make  your 


"As  a  Thief  in  the  Night-  105 

"air  stand  on  end.     You  jist  trot  along  tcr  me  when 
you're  free,  and  we'll  take  a  little  stroll  together." 

Dollops'  countenance  widened  into  a  delighted 
grin. 

Later,  Dollops,  in  the  act  of  laying  out  Cleek's 
clothes  for  dinner,  while  (/leek  himself  unpacked 
leisurely  and  made  the  braces  that  held  the  mirror 
of  the  dressing-table  gay  with  multi-coloured  ties, 
gave  out  the  news  of  his  promised  visit  to  the  Pig  and 
Whistle  with  the  august  Borkins  with  something  akin 
to  triumph. 

"That's  right,  lad,  that's  right.  Get  friendly  with 
'em!"  returned  ("leek  with  a  pleased  smile.  "I've 
an  idea  we're  going  to  have  a  pretty  lively  time  down 
here,  if  I'm  not  much  mistaken.  Stick  to  that  chap 
Borkins  as  you  would  to  glue.  Don't  let  him  get  away 
from  you.  Follow  him  wherever  he  goes,  but  don't 
let  the  other  servants  in  the  place  slip  out  from  your 
watchful  eye,  either.  Those  Frozen  Flames  want 
looking  into.  I  have  grave  suspicions  of  Borkins. 
Hi.-;  sort  generally  knows  more  than  almost  any  other 
sort,  and  he  appeared  to  be  sizing  me  up  pretty 
carefully.  I  shouldn't  wonder  at  all,  if  he  had  an 
idea  already  that  I  am  not  the  'man  about  town'  I 
appear  to  be.  It  will  be  rotten  luck  if  he  has. 
Time  I  got  into  my  togs,  boy.  .  .  Here,  just 
hand  me  that  shirt,  will  you?" 

That  night  certainly  proved  an  even  more  exciting 
one  than  Cleek  had  prophesied.  The  household  re- 


106         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

tired  early,  as  country  households  are  apt  to  do,  but 
Cleek,  however,  did  not  undress.  He  sat  at  his 
window,  which  faced  upon  the  Fens,  watching  the 
trail  of  the  flames  dancing  across  the  horizon  of 
night,  arid  trying  to  solve  the  riddle  that  he  had  come 
to  find  the  answer  to. 

He  heard  the  church  clock  in  the  distance  chime 
out  the  hour  of  twelve;  and  si  ill  he  sat  on.  The 
peace  of  the  quiet  night  stole  over  him,  filling  his 
active  brain  with  a  restfulness  that  had  been  foreign 
to  it  for  some  time  in  the  stress  of  his  busy  life  in 
London.  He  felt  glad  he  had  taken  up  iliis  case,  if 
only  for  the  view  of  the  countryside  at  night,  Hie 
stillness  of  the  untrod  marshes,  and  the  absolute 
absence  of  every  living  thing  at  this  hour. 

The  clock  chimed  one,  and  he  heeded  it  not. 
Two — half -past .  Of  a  sudden  he  sat  bolt:  up 
right,  then  got  noiselessly  to  his  feet  and  glided 
across  the  floor  to  where  his  bed  stood — a  nioi;:>  irons 
black  object  with  heavy  canopy  and  curtains,  a  relic 
of  the  Victorianism  in  which  this  house  was  born. 
He  moved  like  a  cat,  absolutely  without  sound,  fleet, 
sure.  His  ringers  found  the  coverlet  and  he  tore  it 
down,  tumbling  the  clothes  and  pushing  down  the 
pillow  so  that  it  looked  as  if  he  himself  lay  there, 
peacefully  sleeping  beneath  the  sheltering  blan 
kets.  .  .  .  Then,  still  noiseless,  panther-like,  he 

slid  his  lithe  figure  under  the  bed Then 

the  noise  came  again.  Just  the  whisper  of  footsteps 


"As  a   Thief  in  the  Night-  107 

in  the  wide  hali,  and  then — his  door  opened  sound 
lessly  and  for  a  moment  the  footsteps  stopped.  He 
could  feel  a  presence  in  the  room.  If  it  were  Dollops 
the  lad  would  give  some  sign.  If  not—-  He  lay  still, 
scarcely  brea'hing  in  the  enveloping  darkness.  The 
footsteps  came  again,  soflly,  sci'lly  padding  across 
the  room  toward  him.  lie  saw  the  black  shadows  of 
stockinged  feet  as  they  crossed  the  path  of  moonlight, 
and  sucked  in  his  breath.  Alan's  feet! 
Whose?  .  .  .  Then  something  shook  the  bed 
stead  with  tremendous  force,  but  without  sound. 
It  was  as  if  some  object  had  been  hurled  forcibly  into 
its  softness.  The  footsteps  turned  again,  hurriedly 
this  time,  and  there  was  a  sound  of  a  deep-drawn 
breath — a  breath  full  of  pent-up,  passionate  hatred. 
Then  the  figure  ran  lightly  across  the  room,  and  as  it 
flashed  for  a  moment  through  the  bar  of  moonlight, 
Cleek  looked  out  from  his  safe  hiding-place  and — 
mic  !  The  eyes  were  narrowed  in  the  ivory-tinted 
face,  the  jaw  heavy  and  undershot  as  a  bull-dog's, 
while  a  dark  coloured  mustache  straggled  untidily 
across  the  upper  lip.  The  moonlight,  cruelly  clear, 
picked  out  the  point  of  something  sharp  that  shone 
in  one  clenched  hand,  something  that  looked  like  a 
knife — that  was  a  knife. 

Then   the   figure    vanished    and   the   door   closed 
noiselessly  behind  him. 

Hinm.     So  this  question  of  the  Frozen  Flame  was 
as  urgent  as  all  that,  was  it?     To  attempt  to  murder 


108         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

him,  here — in  the  house  of  the  Squire  of  Fetchworth. 
He  wriggled  out  of  his  hiding  place,  a  little  stiff  from 
the  cramped  position  he  had  held,  and  guardedly  lit 
his  candle.  Then  he  surveyed  the  bed  wilh  set 
mouth  and  narrowed  eyes.  There  was  a  sharp 
incision  through  the  clothes,  an  incision  quite  three 
inches  long,  that  had  punctured  the  pillow  which  lay 
beneath  them — the  pillow  that  had  saved  him  his 
life — and  buried  itself  in  the  mattress  beneath. 
Gad!  a  powerful  hand  that!  He  stood  a  moment 
thinking,  pinching  up  his  chin  the  while.  He  had  had 
his  suspicions  of  Borkins,  but  the  face  that  he  bad 
seen  in  the  moonlight  was  not  the  butler's  face. 
Whose,  then,  was  it? 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A    GRUESOME    DISCOVERY 

U-IROUGH  the  long  watches  of  the  night  Cleek 
sat  there  thinking,  his  chin  sunk  in  one  hand, 
his  eyes  narrowed  down  to  pin-points,  the 
whole  alert  personality  of  the  man  vitally  dominant. 
No,  he  would  not  tell  any  one  of  the  happening  except 
Dollops  and  Mr.  Narkom.  It  would  only  invite 
suspicion,  throw  the  house  into  a  stale  of  unrest  which 
was  the  very  thing  that  he  wras  anxious  to  avoid.  As 
dawn  broke,  and  the  danger  for  that  night  was  past, 
he  got  to  his  feet,  plunged  his  face  into  cold  water, 
which  cleared  away  the  cobwebs,  undressed,  and  then 
tackled  the  question  of  the  injured  bedding. 

The  mattress  could  be  turned — that  was  easy 
enough,  and  the  slit  would  probably  not  be  noticed. 
The  bedclothes,  too,  might  be  turned  the  other  way 
up,  and  with  care  the  injured  parts  tucked  in  tightly 
at  the  bottom.  It  would  leave  them  a  little  short  at 
the  top  perhaps,  but  that  couldn't  be  helped.  Sus 
picion  must  be  allayed  at  all  costs.  Time  enough  to 
bring  the  would-be  murderer  to  justice  when  he  had 
solved  the  riddle  in  its  entirety.  There  were  two 
pillows,  so  he  took  the  damaged  one,  tore  off  its  case, 

109 


110         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

and  tucked  that  away  in  his  kit-bag,  pushed  the  bag 
under  the  bed,  and  then  set  about  the  remaking,  with 
some  small  success.  At  least  for  the  time,  the  in 
cisions  in  the  blanket  and  sheets  would  not  be 
noticed,  and  in  the  morning  he  would  invent  some 
excuse  to  have  them  changed. 

The  early  morning  cup  of  tea,  brought  at  eight 
by  a  dainty  chambermaid  in  cap  and  starched 
blue  dress,  supplied  the  need  quite  nicely.  lie 
nodded  to  her  as  she  left  the  room,  and  then,  when 
the  door  closed,  upset  the  cup  on  the  coverlet, 
letting  the  liquid  soak  through.  Then  he  got  up 
and  dressed  himself  with  something  like  a  smile  upon 
his  lips. 

At  breakfast,  a  housemaid  waited  upon  them,  and 
Cleek  ate  lustily,  with  the  appetite  that  is  born  of 
good  health,  and  a  mind  at  peace  with  the  world. 
Toward  the  end  of  the  meal,  however,  Borkins  came 
in.  He  glanced  casually  over  the  group  at  the  table, 
let  his  eyes  rest  for  a  moment  upon  Cleek,  and  then — 
dropped  an  empty  dish  he  was  carrying.  As  he 
stooped  to  recover  it,  all  chance  of  seeing  how  the 
appearance  of  the  man  who  had  so  nearly  met  his 
death  last  night  affected  him,  was  gone.  He  came  up 
again  still  the  same,  quiet,  dignified  Borkins  of  yore. 
Not  a  gleam  of  anything  but  the  most  obsequious 
interest  in  the  task  before  him  marred  the  tran 
quillity  of  his  features.  If  the  man  knew  anything, 
then  he  was  a  fine  actor.  But — did  he?  That  was 


A  Gruesome  Discovery  111 

the  question  that  interested  Cleek  during  the  re 
mainder  of  the  meal. 

After  it  was  over,  Mr.  Narkom  and  Sir  Nigel  went 
off  to  the  smoking  room  for  a  quiet  cigarette  before 
setting  to  the  real  business  of  the  day,  and  Cleek  was 
left  to  follow  them  at  his  leisure.  Borkins  was 
pottering  about  the  table  as  the  two  men  left  the 
breakfast  room,  and  Cleek  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"Peaceful  night,  last  night,  eh,  Borkiris?"  he  said 
with  a  slight  laugh.  "That's  the  best  of  this  blessed 
country  life  of  yours.  Chap  rests  so  well.  Talk 
al/out  the  simple  life —  He  broke  off  and 

laughed  again,  watching  Borkins  pick  up  a  clean  fork 
and  carry  it  to  the  plate-basket  upon  the  sideboard. 

The  man  retained  his  perfect  dignity  and  ease  of 
manner. 

"Quite  so,  sir.     Quite  so.     I  trust  you  slept  w,  11." 

"Pretty  well—  for  a  xtrange  bed,"  returned  Cleek 
with  emphasis,  and  turned  upon  his  heel.  "If  you 
see  my  man  you  might  send  him  rJor'g  to  me.  I 
want  to  arrange  with  him  about  suits  that  are  coming 
down  from  my  tailor's." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

Cleek  joined  the  two  men  with  something  akin  to 
admiration  for  the  butler's  impassiveness  in  his  heart. 
If  he  knew  anything,  then  he  was  a  past  master  in  the 
art  of  repression.  On  the  other  hand  perhaps  he 
didn't — and  there  was  really  no  reason  why  he 
should.  Eavesdropping  was  a  common  enough 


The  Riddle  of  tJie  Frozen  Flame 

fault  with  the  best  of  servants,  and  curiosity  a  failing 
of  most  men.  Borkins  might  be — and  possibly  was— 
absolutely  innocent  of  any  knowledge  of  last  night's 
affair.  And  yet,  how  did  the  knowledge,  that  he  was 
not  altogether  what  he  seemed,  leak  out?  It  was  a 
puzzle  to  which,  as  yet,  Cleek  could  find  no  answer. 

Mr.  Narkoni  greeted  Cleek  enthusiastically  when 
he  joined  him. 

"I'm  off  on  a  tour  of  investigation  in  a  few 
minutes,"  he  announced.  "Petrie  and  Hammond 
arrived  last  night,  as  you  know,  and  are  putting  up  at 
the  village  inn.  I'm  meeting  them  at  the  edge  of 
the  Fens  at  ten  o'clock.  Then  we're  going  to  have 
a  good  look  to  see  if  we  can  find  the  bodies  of  the  two 
men  who  have  vanished.  You  coming  along?" 

Cleek  nodded,  and  the  queer  little  one-sided  smile 
travelled  up  his  cheek. 

"Certainly,  my  dear  Lake.  I'd  be  delighted. 
Sir  Nigel,  of  course,  has  other  business  to  attend  to. 
It's  ten  minutes  to  ten  now.  If  you're  going  you'd 
better  step  lively.  Ah,"  as  Dollops's  figure  ap 
peared  in  the  doorway,  "if  you'll  excuse  me,  Sir 
Nigel,  I'll  just  have  a  word  or  two  with  my  man." 
His  voice  dropped  several  tones  as  he  addressed  the 
boy  and  they  moved  away  together.  "Mr.  Lake 
and  I  are  going  out  for  a  walk  across  the  Fens. 
Petrie  and  Hammond  will  be  there  at  ten.  I'd  like 
you  to  join  'em.  Better  nip  along  now." 

"Yessir." 


A  Gruesome  Discovery  113 

"And — Dollops"  -  he  beckoned  him  back  and 
bent  his  head  to  the  lad's  ear,  speaking  in  a  voice  that 
none  heard  but  the  one  it  was  intended  for — "keep  a 
sharp  look-out.  I  had  a  narrow  escape  last  night. 
Someone  tried  to  stab  me  in  bed  but  he  got  my 
pillow  instead— 

"  Gawdamercy,  Guv'nor ! — 

"Ssh.  And  there's  no  need  to  worry.  I'm  still 
here,  you  see.  But  keep  your  eyes  and  your  ears 
open,  and  if  you  see  any  strange  men  hanging  around, 
report  to  me  at  once." 

Dollops's  usually  pale,  freckled  countenance  went 
a  shade  paler,  and  he  caught  at  Cleek's  arm  as  though 
he  were  loath  to  let  it  go. 

"But,  sir,"  he  whispered  in  a  hoarse  undertone, 
"you  won't  go  a-knocking  about  alone,  will  yer? 
If  anythin'  were  to  'appen  to  you — I — I'd  go  along 
and  commit  that  there  'harum-scarum'  wot  the 
Japanese  are  so  fond  o'  doin' — on  the  spot!" 

Cleek  could  barely  restrain  a  laugh.  The  whispered 
conversation  had  taken  the  merest  fraction  of  a 
minute  and,  during  it,  he  had  had  full  view  of  the 
green  baize  door  which  led  down  to  the  servants' 
quarters.  Borkins  had  gone  through  it  some  time 
before.  Then  he  heard  the  butler's  deep,  measured 
tones  in  the  garden,  and  caught  sight  of  him  talking 
to  one  of  the  grooms  in  the  courtyard.  He  heaved 
something  like  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Dollops   left,  and  Cleek    then   rejoined  the   two 


114         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

men  who  stood  talking  together  in  low,  earnest 
tones. 

"Now,"  said  he,  briskly,  "if  you're  ready,  Mr. 
Lake,  I  am.  Let  us  be  oiF.  Sir  Nigel,  I  hope  by 
dinner  time  to  have  some  sort  of  news  to  impart  to 
you,  whether  good  or  ill  remains  to  be  seen.  By  the 
way,  have  you,  in  your  employ,  a  dark,  square-faced 
individual,  with  close-set  eyes  and  a  straggling  mous- 
lac'r.o?  Rather  undershot,  too,  I  believe?  It  would 
be  interesting  to  me  to  know." 

Merriton  considered  for  a  moment. 

"Tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Headland,  I  can't  fit  the 
description  in  anywhere  among  the  peoplo  hero,"  he 
said  after  a  pause.  "Dimrnock's  fairish — though 
he  has  got  a  moustache,  but  it's  a  military  one,  and 
Borkins  is,  of  course,  smooth  shaven.  The  other  men 
are  clean-shaved,  too,  except  for  old  Doughty,  the 
head  gardener,  and  he  wears  a  full,  gray  beard. 
Why?" 

Cleek  shook  his  head. 

"Nothing  important.  I  was  only  just  wondering. 
Now  then,  Lake,  you'll  be  late  if  you  loiter  any  longer, 
and  our — er — friends  will  be  waiting.  Good-bye,  Sir 
Nigel,  and  good  luck.  Lunch  at  one-fifteen,  I  take 
it?" 

He  swung  upon  his  heel  and  linked  his  arm  with 
Mr.  Narkom's,  then,  taking  his  cap  from  a  peg  on  the 
hall  stand,  clapped  it  on  his  head  and  went  down  and 
out  to  the  task  that  awaited  him,  and  a  discovery 


A  Gruesome  Discovery  115 

which  was,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  startling  in  the 
extreme. 

They  walked  for  sonic  time  in  comparative  silence, 
puffing  at  their  cigarettes.  Then  of  a  sudden,  Clock 
spoke. 

"I  say,  old  man,  you'll  want  to  keep  a  close  look 
out  upon  your  own  personal  safety,"  he  said,  abruptly, 
wheeling  round  and  meeting  his  friend  full  in  the  eyes. 

"What  d'you  mean,  C Headland?" 

"What  I  say.  Someone's  got  wind  of  our  real 
purpose  here.  I  have  a  grave  suspicion  that  that 
Liorkins  was  listening  at  my  door  last  evening  when 
I  was  talking  to  Dollops.  Later — well,  somebody  or 
other  tried  to  get  me  in  bed.  But  I  was  one  too 
many  for  him— 

"My  dearCleek!" 

"Mr.  Lake,  I  beg  of  you — not  so  loud!"  ejaculated 
Cleek.  "There  are  ears  everywhere,  which  you  as  a 
policeman  ought  to  know.  Do  remember  my  name 
and  don't  go  losing  any  sleep  over  me.  I  can  take 
care  of  myself,  all  right.  But  I  had  to  do  it  pretty 
energetically  last  night.  A  thoughtful  visitor 
stabbed  the  pillow  I'd  placed  in  bed  instead  of  my 
humble  self,  and  cut  an  incision  three  inches  deep. 
Hit  the  mattress,  too!" 

"Headland,  my  God !" 

"Now,  don't  take  on  so.  I  tell  you  I  can  take  care 
of  myself,  but  you  do  the  same.  No  one  in  the  house 
knows  a  word  about  it,  and  I  don't  intend  that  they 


116         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

shall.  The  less  said  the  better,  in  a  case  like  this. 
Only  those  Frozen  Flames  are  trying  to  eat  up  some 
thing  that  is  either  very  serious  or  very  money- 
making.  One  thing  or  the  other.  .  .  .  Hello, 
here  we  are!  Mornin'  Petrie;  inornin'  Hammond. 
All  ready  for  the  search  I  see." 

The  two  constables,  clad  in  plain  clothes  and 
accompanied  by  Dollops,  were  holding  in  their  hands 
long  pitchforks  which  looked  more  as  if  they  were 
ready  for  haymaking  than  for  the  gruesome  lask 
ahead  of  them  all.  Petrie  carried  upon  his  arm  a  roll 
of  rope.  They  swung  into  step  behind  the  detectives, 
across  the  uneven,  marshy  ground. 

It  was  a  chilly  morning,  and  inclined  to  rain. 
Across  the  flat  horizon  the  mist  hung  in  wraithlike 
forms  of  cloudy  gray,  and  the  deep  grass  inlo  which 
they  plunged  their  feet  was  beaded  with  dew.  For  a 
time  they  walked  on  quietly  until  they  had  gone 
perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  Then  Cleek  halted. 

"Better  separate  here,"  he  said,  waving  his  arm 
out  across  the  sweep  of  flat  country.  ''Dollops,  you 
take  the  right  with  Petrie.  Hammond,  you'd  better 
try  the  left.  Mr.  Narkom  and  I  will  go  straight 
ahead  together.  Any  discovery  made,  just  give  the 
usual  signal." 

They  separated  at  once,  their  feet  upon  the  thick 
marshy  ground  leaving  numberless  footprints  in 
the  moist  rank  grass,  wiiich  crushed  under  them 
like  wet  hay.  Their  heads  were  bent,  their  eyes 


A  Gruesome  Discovery  117 

fixed  upon  the  ground,  their  faces  bearing  a  look  of 
utter  concentration.  Cleek  watched  them  moving 
slowly  across  the  wide,  flat  reaches  of  the  Fens,  stop 
ping  now  and  then  to  poke  among  the  rank  marsh- 
grass,  and  prod  into  the  earth,  and  then  turned  to 
Mr.  Narkom. 

"Good  fellows — those  three,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 
"What  move  can  you  ask  than  that?  Straight  ahead 
for  us,  Mr.  Narkom,  Sir  Nigel  tells  me  the  patch 
of  charred  grass  lies  in  a  direct  line  with  the  edge  of 
the  Fens  where  we  started  our  search.  I'm  keen  to 
ha\e  a  look  at  it." 

Mr.  Narkom  nodded,  and  walked  on,  poking  here 
and  there  with  his  stout  walking  stick.  Cleek  did 
likewise.  They  rarely  spoke,  simply  pushed  and 
poked  and  trod  the  grass  clown;  searching,  searching, 
searching,  as  had  those1  oilier  men  upon  the  night 
of  Dacre  Wynne's  disappearance.  But  they  had 
searched  in  vain  for  any  clue  which  would  lead  to 
the  elucidation  of  the  mystery. 

Suddenly  Cleek  stopped.  lie  pointed  a  little 
ahead  of  him  with  his  walking  stick. 

''There  you  are!"  said  he  briskly.  "The  patch  of 
charred  grass."  lie  strode  up  to  it,  stopped  and 
bent  his  eyes  upon  it,  then  suddenly  exclaimed: 
"Look  here!  Below  at  the  roots  the  fresh  grass  is 
springing  up  in  little  tender  green  shoots.  That 
patch'll  disappear  shortly.  And"-  -  he  stopped  and 
sucked  in  his  breath,  wheeling  round  upon  Mr.  Nar- 


118         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

kom — "when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  why  shouldn't 
it  have  grown  up  already?  There's  been  t  ime  enough 
since  the  man  Wynne's  disappearance  to  cover 
up  all  those  singed  ends  in  a  new  growth.  Can't 
be  that  it's  done  on  purpose,  and  yet — why  is  it  still 
here?" 

"Perhaps  some  sign  or  something,"  suggested  Mr. 
Narkom. 

"Possibly,  something  of  the  sort.  And  if  we  have 
signs  then  there  must  be  something  human  behind  all 
this  talk  of  supernatural  agents,"  returned  Cleek. 
"Let  us  take  it  that  this  patch  of  charred  grass  hide* 
something,  or  marks  the  way  to  something,  some 
thing  buried  underneath  it,  or  lying  near  by.  Eh— 
what's  that?" 

"That"  was  a  cat-call  ringing  out  across  the  misty 
silences  from  the  direction  in  which  Dollops  and 
Petrie  had  gone. 

"They've  found  something!"  cried  out  Mr.  .Nar 
kom,  in  a  hoarse  whisper  of  excitement. 

"Obviously.  Well,  this  other  thing  will  wait. 
We'll  go  after  them." 

The  two  of  them  hastened  oil'  in  the  direction  or 
the  repeated  cat-call,  and  soon  came  upon  Dollops 
bending  over  something,  his  eyes  rather  scared,  just 
as  Hammond  arrived  from  the  other  direction  in 
answer  to  the  summons.  Petrie,  too,  appeared  rat  her 
nervous.  As  Cleek  came  up  to  them,  his  eyes  fell 
upon  the  ground,  and  he  stopped  stock  still. 


A  Gruesome  Discovery  119 

"Gad!     .     .     .     Where  did  you  find  it?" 

"Here,  sir;  half  buried,  but  with  the  'ead  a- 
stickin'  out!"  returned  Petrie.  "Dollops  and  I 
pulled  it  out  and — and  'ere  it  is." 

Cleek  glanced  down  at  the  body  of  a  heavily 
built  man,  elad  in  evening  clothes,  and  already  in  an 
ad vanced  state  of  decomposition.  "Looks  like  it  was 
thai  chap  Wynne,"  he  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 
"Answers  the  description  ail  right.  The  other  man 
was  short  and  red-headed.  And  the  evening  clothes 
art1  \veH  cul  from  what  I  can  see.  Must  have  been  a 
handsome  chap — once.  .  .  .  Well,  we'll  have  to 
get  I  his  very  gruesome  find  back  to  the  Towers  as 
quickly  as  possible.  Got  your  oilskin  with  you, 
Petrie?" 

"Yessir!"  Petrie  miraculously  produced  the  roll 
from  under  his  tunic  and  spread  the  sheet  out.  Then 
they  lifted  up  the  body  and  wrapped  it  about  so  that 
the  covering  hid  the  awfulness  of  it  from  view.  Mr. 
Narkom  mopped  his  forehead  with  his  handkerchief. 

"Cinnamon,  Cleek!"  he  ejaculated,  breathlessly. 
"Pretty  awful,  isn't  it?  Was  it  much  hidden,  Petrie? 
Funny  the  other  people  didn't  find  it  when  they 
searched!" 

"No,  sir — plain  as  a  pikestaff!"  returned  Petrie 
importantly,  for  he  felt  the  burden  of  responsibility 
and  hoped  that  this  would  mean  promotion.  Dollops, 
who  was  by  no  means  a  regular  member  of  the  force, 
simply  looked  at  Cleek  writh  considerable  pride  fight- 


120         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

ing  through  the  natural  horror   that   the   find   had 
given  birth  to. 

"Funny  thing!"  broke  in  deck  at  this  juncture. 
"The  only  solution  must  be  that  the  body  was  placed 
there  some  time  after  death.  .  .  .  Leave  it  a 
little  longer,  boys,  and  we'll  have  a  further  search  in 
this  direction.  We  may  come  upon  poor  Collins  in 
a  similar  fashion — though  thank  Heaven  his  dis 
appearance  didn't  happen  quite  so  long  ago." 

They  took  a  few  steps  farther  in  the  same  direction 
and — stopped  simultaneously.  Before  their  eyes 
lay  the  figure  of  Collins,  in  his  discreet  black  clothes, 
his  red  head  against  a  tuffet  of  moss,  and  a  bullet 
wound  in  his  temple. 

"God!"    said    deck,    softly,    and   sucked    in    his 
breath.         "Two   of   'em.     And   like   this! 
Looks  like  a  plant,  doesn't  it?     Poor  chap! 
And  yet  Men-it  on  declared  that  he,  as  well  as  others, 
had  searched  every  inch  of  this  ground  over  arid  over 
again.     Seems   fishy.     To   find    'em   both    here-  so 
close  together.     .     .     .     Let's  have  a  look   at    I  he 
other    poor    chap.     .     .     .     Ilmm.     Bullet    wound 
through  the  right  temple,  too.     Small-calibre  revol 
ver." 

He  bent  down  and  examined  the  head  carefully 
through  his  magnifying  glass,  then  got  slowly  to  his 
feet. 

"Well,  Mr.  Narkom,"  said  he,  steadily,  "nothing 
to  be  done  at  present,  but  to  get  these  bodies  back  to 


A  Gruesome  Discovery 

the  Towers.  After  that  they  can  take  'em  to  the 
village  mortuary  if  they  like.  But  I've  one  or  two 
things  I'd  like  to  ask  you  Merriton,  and  one  or  two 
things  I  want  to  examine.  Gad!  it's  a  beastly  task, 
boys.  That  sheet's  big  enough,  thank  fortune! 
Cross  the  pitchforks,  Petrie,  and  make  a  sort  of 
stretcher  out  of  them,  that  way.  That's  right.  Now 
then,  forward.  .  .  .  Gad!  what  a  morning!" 

But  if  he  had  known  just  exactly  what  the  rest  of 
that  morning  was  to  bring  forth,  indeed  before  lunch 
was  served  at  one-fifteen,  he  might  have  hesitated  to 
pas-j  judgment  upon  it  so  soon. 

Slowly  the  cavalcade  wended  its  way  across  the 
rank  grass. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   SPIN   OF   THE   WHEEL 

ERRITON  stood  at  the  study  window,  look 
ing  out,  and  pulling  at  his  cigar  with  an  air 
of  profound  meditation.  Upon  the  hearih- 
rug  Doctor  Bartholomew,  clad  in  baggy  tweeds, 
stood  tugging  at  his  beard  and  watched  the  man's 
back  with  kindly,  troubled  eyes. 

"Don't  like  it,  Nigel,  my  boy;  don't  like  it  at  all!'' 
he  ejaculated,  suddenly,  in  his  close-clipped  fashion. 
"These  detectives  are  the  very  devil  to  pay.  Get 
'em  in  one's  house  and  they're  like  doctors-  in 
cluding,  of  course,  my  humble  self — difficult  to  get 
out.  Part  of  the  profession,  my  boy.  But  a  beastly 
nuisance.  Seems  to  me  I'd  rather  have  the  mystery 
than  the  men.  Simpler,  anyway.  And  fees,  you 
know,  are  heavy." 

Merriton  swung  round  upon  his  heel  suddenly,  his 
brows  like  a  thunder  cloud. 

"I  don't  care  a  damn  about  that,"  he  broke  out 
angrily.  "Let  'em  take  every  penny  I've  got,  so 
long  as  they  solve  the  thing!  But  I  can't  get  away 
from  it— I  just  can't.  Hangs  over  me  night  and  day 
like  the  sword  of  Damocles!  Until  the  mystery  of 

122 


The  Spin  of  the  Wheel  123 

Wynne's  disappearance  is  cleared  up,  I  tell  you 
'Toinette  and  I  can't  marry.  She  feels  the  same. 
And — and — we've  the  house  all  ready,  you  know, 
everything  fixed  and  in  order,  except  this.  When 
poor  old  Collins  disappeared,  too,  I  found  I'd  reached 
my  limit.  So  here  these  detectives  are,  and,  on  the 
whole,  jolly  decent  chaps  I  find  'em." 

Doctor  Bartholomew  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  if 
to  say,  "Have  it  your  own  way,  my  boy."  But  what 
he  really  did  say  was : 

"What  are  their  names?" 

"Young  chap's  Headland — George  or  John  Head 
land,  I  don't  remember  quite  which.  Other  one's 
Lake — Gregory  Lake." 

"Il'm.  Good  name  that,  Nigel.  Ought  to  be 
some  brains  behind  it.  But  I  never  did  pin  my  faith 
on  policemen,  you  know,  boy.  Scotland  Yard's 
made  so  many  mistakes  that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that 
chap  ("leek,  they'd  have  ruined  themselves  al 
together.  Now,  he's  a  man,  if  you  like!  Pity  you 
couldn't  get  him  while  you're  about  it." 

The  impulse  to  tell  who  "George  Headland" 
really  was  to  this  firm  friend  who  had  been  more  than 
a  father  to  him,  even  in  the  old  days,  and  who  had 
made  a  point  of  dropping  down  upon  him,  informally, 
ever  since  the  trouble  over  Dacre  Wynne's  dis 
appearance,  took  hold  of  Nigel.  But  he  shook  it  off. 
He  had  given  his  word.  And  if  he  could  not  tell 
'Toinette,  then  no  other  soul  in  the  universe  should 


124         TJie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

know.  So  he  simply  tossed  his  shoulders,  and,  going 
back  to  the  window,  looked  out  of  it,  to  hide  the  some 
thing  of  triumph  which  had  stolen  into  his  face. 

Truth  to  tell,  he  was  obsessed  with  a  feeling  that 
something  irax  going  to  happen,  arid  happen  soon. 
The  premonition,  to  one  wiio  was  not  used  to  such 
things,  carried  all  the  more  conviction.  \Yith  Cleek 
on  the  track — anything  might  happen.  Cleek  was  a 
man  for  whom  things  never  stood  still,  and  his  amaz 
ing  brain  was  concentrated  upon  this  problem  as  it 
had  been  concentrated — successfully — upon  others. 
Merriton  had  a  feeling  that  it  was  only  a  matter  of 
time. 

Then,  just  as  he  was  standing  there,  humming 
something  softly  beneath  his  breath,  the  cavalcade, 
headed  by  Cleek  and  ]NIr.  Narkom,  ralher  grim  and 
silent,  reached  the  gateway.  Behind  them — \Ierri- 
ton  gave  a  sudden  cry  which  brought  the  doctor  to 
his  side — behind  them  three  men  were  carrying  some 
thing — something  bulky  and  large  and  wrapped  in  a 
black  oilskin  tarpaulin.  And  one  of  the  men  was 
Headland's  servant,  Dollops!  He  recognized  that, 
even  as  his  inner  consciousness  told  him  that  his 
"something"  was  about  to  happen  now. 

"Gad!  they've  found  the  body,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
hoarse,  excited  voice,  fairly  running  to  the  front  door 
and  throwing  it  open  with  a  crash  that  rang  through 
the  old  house  from  floor  to  rafters,  and  brought 
Borkins  scuttling  up  the  kitchen  stairs  at  a  pace  that 


The  Spin  of  the  Wheel  125 

was  ill-befitting  his  age  and  dignity.  Merriton  gave 
him  a  curt  order. 

"Have  the  morning-room  door  thrown  open  and 
the  sofa  pulled  out  from  against  the  wall.  My 
friends  have  been  for  a  walk  across  the  Fens,  and  have 
found  something.  You  can  see  them  coming  up  the 
drive.  "What  d'you  make  of  it?" 

"Gawd!  a  haccident,  Sir  Nigel,"  said  Borkins,  in 
a  shaky  voice.  ;'  'Adn't  I  better  tell  Mrs.  Mummery 
to  put.  the  blue  bedroom  in  order  and  'ave  plenty  of 
'ot  water?  ..." 

"Xo."  Merriton  was  running  down  the  front 
steps  and  flung  the  answer  back  over  his  shoulder. 

"Can't  you  use  your  eyes?     It's  a  body,  you  fool — a 

i     11" 
body! 

Borkins  gasped  a  moment,  and  then  stood  still,  his 
thin  lips  sucked  in,  his  face  unpleasant  to  see.  He 
was  alone  in  the  hallway,  for  Doctor  Bartholomew's 
fat  figure  was  waddling  in  Merriton's  wake. 

He  put  up  his  fist  and  shook  it  in  their  direction. 

"Pity  it  ain't  your  body,  young  upstart  that  you 
are!"  he  muttered  beneath  his  breath,  and  turned 
toward  the  morning  room. 

Meanwhile  Merriton  had  reached  the  solemn  little 
party  and  was  walking  back  beside  Cleek,  his  face 
chalky,  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  a  trifle  dilated  with 
excitement. 

"Found  'em?  Found  'em  both,  you  say,  Mr. 
Headland?"  he  kept  on  repeating  over  and  over 


12G         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

again,  as  they  mounted  the  steps  together.  "Good 
God!  "What  a  strange — what  a  peculiar  thing!  I'll 
swear  there  was  no  sight  nor  sign  of  them  when  I've 
tramped  over  the  Fens  dozens  of  times.  I  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  it,  I  don't  indeed!" 

"Oh,  we'll  make  something  of  it  all  right,"  returned 
Cleek,  with  a  sharp  look  at  him,  for  there  was  one 
thing  he  wanted  to  find  out,  and  he  meant  to  do  that 
as  soon  as  possible.  "Two  and  two,  you  know,  put 
together  properly,  always  make  four.  It's  only  the 
fools  of  the  world  that  add  wrong.  If  you'd  had  as 
much  practice  as  I've  had  in  dealing  with  humanity, 
you'd  find  it  was  an  ever-increasing  astonishment 
to  see  the  way  things  dovetail  in  ....  Who's 
this,  by  the  way?" 

He  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  doctor, 
who  had  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  and  waited 
for  them  to  come  up  to  him. 

"Oh,  a  very  old  friend  of  mine,  Mr.  Headland. 
Doctor  Bartholomew.  Has  a  very  big  practice  in 
town,  but  a  trifle  eccentric,  as  you  can  see  at  first 
glance." 

Cleek  sent  his  keen  eyes  over  the  odd-looking 
figure  in  the  worn  tweeds. 

"I  see.  Then  can  you  tell  me  how  he  finds  time 
to  run  down  here  at  leisure  and  visit  you?  Seems  to 
me  a  man  with  a  big  practice  never  has  enough  time 
to  work  it  in.  At  least,  that  has  been  my  experience 
of  doctors." 


The  Spin  of  the  Wheel  U7 

Merriton  flushed  angrily  at  the  tone.  He  whipped 
his  head  round  and  met  Clock's  cool  gaze  hotly. 

"I  know  you're  down  here  to  investigate  the  case, 
but  I  don't  think  there's  any  reason  for  you  to  start 
suspecting  my  friends,"  he  retorted,  his  eyes  flashing. 
"Doctor  Bartholomew  has  a  partner,  if  you  want  to 
know.  And  also  he's  supposed  to  be  retired.  But 
he  carries  on  for  the  love  of  the  thing.  Best  man 
ever  breathed — remember  that!" 

Cleek  smiled  to  himself  at  the  sudden  onslaught, 
The  young  pepper-pot!  Yet  he  liked  him  for  ;!ie 
Io<;al  defence  of  his  friend,  nevertheless.  There  were 
all  too  few  creatures  in  the  world  who  found  it  im 
possible  to  suspect  those  whom  they  cared  for,  and 
who  cared  for  them. 

"Sorry  to  have  given  any  offence,  I'm  sure,"  he 
said,  smoothly.  "None  was  meant,  right  enough, 
Sir  Nigel.  But  a  policeman  has  an  unpleasant  duty, 
you  know.  He's  got  to  keep  his  eyes  and  his  ears 
open.  So  if  you  find  mine  open  too  far,  any  time, 
just  tip  me  the  wink  and  I'll  shut  'em  up  again." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Merriton,  mollified,  and 
a  trifle  shamefaced  at  the  outburst.     Then,  with  an 
effort    to    turn    the    conversation:    "But    think    of 
findin'  'em  both,  Mr.— er — Headland!     Were  they— 
very  awful?" 

"Pretty  awful,"  returned  Clet-k,  quietly;  "eh, 
Mr.  Lake?" 

"God  bless  my  soul — yes  /"  threw  in  that  gentle- 


128         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

man,  with  a  shudder.  "Now  then,  boys,  if  you  don't 
mind—  lie  took  the  attitude  of  a  casual  ac 

quaintance  with  his  two  assistants  who  helped 
to  bear  the  burden.  "Come  along  inside.  This 
way — that's  it.  \Yhere  did  you  say,  Merriton? 
Inlo  the  morning  room?  All  right.  Ah,  Borkins 
has  been  getting  things  ready,  I  see.  That  couch  is  a 
broad  one.  Good  thing,  as  there  are  two  of  'em." 

"  Tiro  of  'em,  sir?"  exclaimed  Borkins,  suddenly 
throwing  up  his  hands,  his  eyes  wide  with  horror. 
Mr.  Narkom  nodded  with  something  of  professional 
triumph  in  his  look. 

"Two  of  'em,  Borkins.  And  the  second  one,  if 
I  don't  make  any  mistake,  answers  to  the  description 
of  James  Collins — eh,  Headland?" 

Clock  gave  him  a  sudden  look  that  spoke  volumes. 
It  came  over  him  in  a  flash  that  Narkom  had  said  too 
much;  that  it  wasn't  the  casual  visitor's  place  to 
know  what  a  servant  who  was  not  there  at  the  time 
of  his  visit  looked  like. 

"At  least — that's  as  far  as  I  can  make  out  from 
what  Sir  Nigel  told  me  of  him  the  oilier  day,"  he 
supplemented,  in  an  effort  to  make  amends.  "Now 
then,  boys,  put  'em  there  on  the  couch.  Poor  things ! 
I  warn  you,  Sir  Nigel,  this  isn't  going  to  be  a  pleas 
ant  sight,  but  you've  got  to  go  through  with  it,  I'm 
afraid.  The  police  '11  want  identification  made,  of 
course.  Hadn't  you  better  'phone  the  local  branch? 
Someone  ought  to  be  here  in  charge,  you  know." 


The  Spin  of  the  Wheel  129 

Merriton  nodded.  He  was  so  stunned  at  the 
actuality  of  these  two  men's  deaths,  at  the  knowledge 
that  their  bodies — lifeless,  extinct — were  here  in  his 
morning  room,  that  he  had  stood  like  an  image, 
making  no  move,  no  sound. 

"Yes — yes,"  lie  said,  rapidly,  waving  a  hand  in 
Borkins's  direction.  "See  that  it's  done  at  once, 
please.  Tell  Constable  Roberts  to  come  along  with  a 
couple  of  his  men.  Very  decent  of  these  chaps  to 
give  you  a  hand,  Mr.  Lake.  That's  your  man,  Dol 
lops,  isn't  it.  Headland?  Well,  hadn't  he  better  take 
'em  downstairs  and  give  'em  a  stifl'  whisky-and- 
soda?  I  expect  the  poor  beggars  have  need  of  it." 

Cleek  held  up  a  silencing  hand. 

"Xo,"  he  said,  firmly.  "Not  just  yet,  I  think. 
They  may  be  needed  for  evidence  when  the  constable 
comes.  Now.  .  .  . "  He  crossed  over  to  where 
the  bodies  lay,  and  gently  removed  the  covering. 
Merriton  went  suddenly  white,  while  the  doctor, 
more  used  to  such  sights,  bit  his  lips  and  laid  a 
steadying  hand  upon  the  younger  man's  arm. 

"My  God!"  cried  Sir  Nigel,  despairingly.  "How 
did  they  meet  their  death?" 

Cleek  reached  down  a  finger  and  gently  touched 
a  blackened  spot  upon  Wynne's  temple. 

"Shot  through  the  head,  and  the  bullet  penetrated 
the  brain,"  he  said,  quietly.  "Small-calibre  re 
volver,  too.  There's  your  Frozen  Flame  for  you,  my 
friend!" 


130         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

But  lie  was  hardly  prepared  for  the  event  that 
followed.  For  at  this  statement,  Merriton  threw  a 
hand  out  suddenly,  as  though  warding  off  a  blow, 
took  a  step  forward  and  peered  at  that  which  had 
once  been  his  friend — and  enemy — and  Ihen  gave 
out  a  strangled  cry. 

"Shot  through  the  head!"  he  fairly  shrieked,  as 
Borkins  came  quietly  into  the  room,  and  stopped 
short  at  the  sound  of  his  master's  voice.  "I  tell  you 
it's  impossible — impossible!  It  wasn't  my  shot,  Mr. 
Headland — it  couldn't  have  been!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

A    STARTLING    DISCLOSURE 

CLEEK  took  a  sudden  step  forward. 
"What's  that?     What's  that?"  he  rapped 
out,  sharply.     "  Your  shot,  Sir  Nigel?     This 
is  something  I  haven't  heard  of  before,  and  it's  likely 
to  cause  trouble.     Explain,  please!" 

But  Merriton  was  past  explaining  anything  just 
then.  For  he  had  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands  and 
was  sobbing  in  great,  heart-wrung  sobs  with  Doctor 
Bartholomew's  arms  about  him,  sobs  tl  at  told  of  the 
nerve-strain  which  gave'  them  birlli,  that  told  of  the 
tenseness  under  which  he  had  lived  these  last  weeks. 
And  now  the  thread  had  snapped,  and  all  the  broken, 
jangling  nerves  of  the  man  had  been  loosed  and  torn 
his  control  to  atoms. 

The  doctor  shook  him  gently,  but  with  firm  fingers. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  boy — don't  be  a  fool!"  he  said 
over  and  over  again,  as  he  waved  the  other  away., 
and,  taking  out  a  lit  lie  phial  from  his  waistcoat  pock 
et,  dropped  a  dose  from  it  into  a  wine-glass  and 
forced  it  between  the  man's  lips.  "Don't  make  an 
ass  of  yourself,  Nigel.  The  shot  you  fired  was 
nothing — the  mere  whim  of  a  man,  whose  brain  had 

131 


132         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

been  fired  by  champagne  and  who  wasn't  therefore 
altogether  responsible  for  his  actions." 

He  whipped  round  suddenly  upon  Cleek,  his  faded 
eyes,  with  their  fringe  of  almost  white  lashes,  flash 
ing  like  points  of  light  from  the  seamed  and  wrinkled 
frame  of  his  face. 

"If  you  want  to  hear  that  foolish  part  of  the  story, 
I  can  give  it  to  you,"  he  said,  sharply.  "Because  I 
happened  to  be  there." 

"You!" 

"Yes— I,  Mr— er— Headland,  isn't  it?  Ah, 
thanks.  But  the  boy's  unstrung,  nerve-racked.  He's 
been  through  loo  much.  The  whole  beastly  Ihing 
has  made  a  mess  of  him,  and  he  was  a  fool  to 
meddle  with  it.  Nigel  Merriton  fired  a  shot  that 
night  when  Dacre  \Vynne  disappeared,  Mr.  Head 
land;  fired  it  after  he  had  gone  up  to  his  room,  a  little 
over-excited  with  too  much  champagne,  a  little  over 
wrought  by  the  scene  through  which  he  had  just 
passed  with  the  man  who  had  always  exercised  such 
a  sinister  influence  over  his  life." 

"So  Sir  Nigel  was  no  good  friend  of  this  man 
Wynne's,  then?"  remarked  Cleek,  quietly,  as  if  he 
did  not  already  know  the  fact. 

The  doctor  looked  up  as  though  he  were  ready  to 
spring  upon  him  and  tear  him  limb  from  limb. 

"No!"  he  said,  furiously,  "and  neither  would  you 
have  been,  if  you'd  known  him.  Great  hulking 
bully  that  he  was!  I  tell  you,  I've  seen  the  man 


A  Startling  Disclosure  133 

use  Ms  influence  upon  this  boy  here,  until— fine,  up 
standing  chap  that  he  is  (and  I've  known  him  and  his 
people  ever  since  he  was  a  baby)  he  succeeded  in  mak 
ing  him  as  weak  as  a  hysterical  girl — and  gloated  over 
it,  too!" 

Cleek  drew  in  a  quiet  breath,  and  gave  his  shoul 
ders  the  very  slightest  of  twitches,  to  show  that  he  was 
listening. 

"Very  interesting,  Doctor,  as  psychological  studies 
of  the  kind  go,"  he  said,  smoothly,  stroking  his  chin 
and  looking  down  at  the  bowed  shoulders  of  the  man 
in  Jie  arm  chair,  with  something  almost  like  sorrow 
in  his  eyes.  "But  we've  go  I  to  gel  down  to  brass 
tacks,  you  know.  This  thing's  serious.  It's  got  to 
be  proved.  If  it  can't,  be — well,  it 's  going  to  be  mighty 
awkward  for  Sir  Nigel.  Now,  let's  hear  the  thing 
straight  out  from  the  person  most  interested,  please. 
I  don't  like  to  appear  thoughtless  in  any  way,  but 
this  is  a  serious  admission  you've  just  made.  Sir 
Nigel,  I  beg  of  you,  tell  us  the  story  before  the  con 
stable  comes.  It  might  make  things  easier  for  you 
in  the  long  run." 

Merriton,  thus  addressed,  threw  up  his  head  sud 
denly  and  showed  a  face  marked  with  mental  an 
guish,  dry-eyed,  deathly  white.  lie  got  slowly  to 
his  feet  and  went  over  to  the  table,  leaning  his  hand 
upon  it  as  though  for  support. 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said,  listlessly,  "you  might  as  well 
hear  it  first  as  last.  Doctor  Bartholomew's  right, 


134         Tlie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Mr.  Headland.  I  did  fire  a  shot  upon  the  night  of 
Dacre  Wynne's  disappearance,  and  I  fired  ii  from 
my  bedroom  window.  It  was  like  this: 

"Wynne  had  gone,  and  after  waiting  for  him  to 
come  back  away  past  the  given  time,  ve  all  made 
up  our  minds  to  go  to  bed,  and  Tony  West — a  pal  of 
mine  who  was  one  of  the  guests- — and  the  Doctor  hen1 
accompanied  me  to  my  room  door.  Dr.  Bartholo 
mew  had  a  room  next  to  mine.  In  that  part  of  the 
house  the  walls  are  thin,  and  although  my  revolver 
(which  I  always  carry  with  me,  Mr.  Headland,  since 
I  lived  in  India)  is  one  of  those  almost  soundless  little 
things,  still,  the  sound  of  it  reached  him." 

"Is  it  of  small  calibre?"  asked  Cleek,  at  this  junc 
ture. 

Merriton  nodded  gravely. 

"As  you  say,  of  small  calibre.  You  can  see  it  for 
yourself.  Borkins"-  -  he  turned  toward  the  man, 
who  was  standing  by  the  doorway,  his  hands  hang 
ing  at  his  sides,  his  manner  a  trifle  obsequious;  "will 
you  bring  it  from,  the  left-hand  drawer  of  my  dressing 
table.  Here  is  the  key."  He  tossed  over  a  bunch  of 
keys  and  they  fell  with,  a  jangling  sound  upon  the 
floor  at  Borkins's  feet. 

"Very  good,  Sir  Nigel,"  said  the  man  and  wiih- 
drew,  leaving  the  door  open  behind  him,  however,  as 
though  he  were  afraid  to  lose  any  of  the  story  that 
was  being  told  in  the  quiet  morning  room. 

When  he  had  gone,  Merriton  resumed : 


A  Startling  Disclosure  13,5 

"I'm  not  a  superstitious  man,  Mr.  Headland,  but 
that  old  wives'  tale  of  the  Frozen  Flames,  and  the 
new  one  coming  out  every  time  they  claimed  another 
victim,  seemed  to  have  burnt  its  way  into  my  brain. 
That  and  the  champagne  together,  and  then  close 
upon  it  Dacre  Wynne's  foolish  bet  to  find  out  what 
I  he  tilings  were.  When  I  went  up  to  my  room,  and 
after  saying  good-night  to  the  doctor  here,  closed  the 
door  and  locked  it,  I  then  crossed  to  the  window 
and  looked  out  at  the  flames.  And  as  I  looked— 
believe  it  or  not,  as  you  will-  another  flame  sud 
denly  sprang  up  at  the  left  of  the  others,  a  flame  that 
seemed  brighter,  bigger  than  any  of  the  rest,  a  flame 
thai  bore  with  it  the  message:  'I  am  Dacre  Wynne'." 

('leek  smiled,  crookedly,  and  went  on  stroking  his 
chin. 

''Rather  a  fanciful  story  that,  Sir  Nigel,"  he  said, 
"but  go  on.  What  happened?" 

"Why,  I  fired  at  the  thing.  I  picked  up  my  re 
volver  and,  in  a  sort  of  blind  rage,  fired  at  it  through 
I  lie  open  window;  and  I  believe  I  said  something  like 
this:  'Damn  it,  why  won't  you  go?  I'll  make  you 
go,  you  maddening  little  devil!'  though  I  know  those 
weren't  the  identical  words  I  spoke.  As  soon  as  the 
shot  was  fired  my  brain  cleared.  I  began  to  feel 
ashamed  of  myself,  thought  what  a  fool  I'd  look  in 
front  of  the  boys  if  they  heard  the  story;  and  just 
at  that  moment  Doctor  Bartholomew  knocked  at  the 
door." 


136         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Here  the  doctor  nodded  vigorously  as  thought  to 
corroborate  these  statements,  and  made  as  if  to  speak. 

Cleek  silenced  him  with  a  gesture. 

"And  then— what  next,  Sir  Nigel?" 

Merriton  cleared  his  throat  before  proceeding. 
There  was  a  drawn  look  upon  his  face. 

"The  doctor  said  he  thought  he  had  heard  a  shot, 
and  asked  me  what  it  was,  and  I  replied:  'Nothing. 
Only  I  was  potting  at  the  flames.'  This  seemed  to 
amaze  him,  as  it  would  any  sane  man,  I  should  think. 
and  as  no  doubt  it  is  amazing  you,  Mr.  Headland. 
Amazing  you  and  making  you  think,  'What,  a  fool 
the  fellow  is,  after  all!'  Well,  I  showed  the  doctor 
the  revolver  in  my  hand,  and  lie  laughingly  said  that 
he'd  take  it  to  bed  with  him,  in  case  I  should  start 
potting  at  him  by  mistake.  Then  I  got  into  bed, 
after  making  him  promise  he  wouldn't  breathe  a 
word  to  anybody  of  what  had  occurred,  as  ihe  others 
would  be  sure  to  laugh  at  me;  and — that's  all." 

"H'm.  And  quite  enough,  too,  I  should  say," 
broke  in  Cleek,  as  the  man  finished.  "It  sounds  true 
enough,  believe  me,  from  your  lips,  and  I  know  you 
for  an  honourable  man;  but — what  sort  of  a  credence1 
do  you  think  an  average  jury  is  going  to  place  upon 
it?  D'you  think  they'd  believe  you?"  He  shook 
his  head.  "Never.  They'd  simply  laugh  at  the 
whole  thing,  and  say  you  were  either  drunk  or  dream 
ing.  People  in  the  twentieth  century  don't  indulge 
in  superstition  to  that  extent,  Sir  Nigel:  or,  at  least, 


A  Startling  Disclosure  137 

if  they  do,  they  let  their  reason  govern  their  actions  as 
far  as  possible.  It's  a  tall  story  at  best,  if  you'll 
forgive  me  for  saying  so." 

Merriton's  face  went  a  dull,  sultry  red.  His  eyes 
flamed. 

"Then  you  don't  believe  me?"  he  said,  impatiently. 

Clock  raised  a  hand. 

"I  don't  say  that  for  one  moment,"  he  replied. 
"  What  I  say  is :  'Would  a  judge  and  jury  believe  you?' 
That  is  the  question.  And  iny  answer  to  it  is,  'No.' 
You've  bad  every  provocation  to  take  Dacre  Wynne's 
life,  so  far  as  1  can  learn,  every  provocation,  that  is, 
that  a  man  of  unsound  mentality  who  would  stoop  to 
murder  could  have  to  justify  himself  in  his  own  eyes. 
Things  look  exceedingly  black  against  you,  Sir  Nigel. 
You  can  swear  to  this  statement  as  far  as  your  part 
in  it  is  concerned,  Doctor  Bartholomew?" 

"'Absolutely,"  said  the  doctor,  though  plainly 
showing  that  he  felt  it  was  no  business  of  the  sup 
posed  Mr.  Headland's. 

''Well,  that's  good.  But  if  only  there  had  been 
another  witness,  someone  who  actually  saw  this  thing 
done,  or  who  had  heard  the  pistol-shot — not  that 
I'm  doubting  your  word  at  all,  Doctor —  it  might 
help  to  elucidate  matters.  There  is  no  one  you  know 
of  who  could  have  heard — and  not  spoken?" 

At  this  juncture  Borkins  came  quietly  into  the 
room,  holding  the  little  revolver  in  his  right  hand, 
and  handed  it  to  Cleek. 


138         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  he  said,  impassively,  and  with 
a  quick  look  into  Merriton's  grave  face,  "7  heard. 
And  I  can  speak,  if  the  jury  wants  me  to,  I  don't 
doubt  but  what  my  tale  would  be  worth  listenin' 
to,  if  only  to  add  my  hevidence  to  the  rest.  That 
man  there"-  -  he  pointed  one  shaking  forefinger  at 
his  master's  face,  and  glowered  into  it  for  a  moment 
—"was  the  murderer  of  poor  Mr.  Wynne!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TRAPPED ! 

'OU  damned,  skulking  liar!'' 

Merriton   leapt    forward   suddenly,    and   it 
was  with  difficulty  that   ('leek  could  restrain 
him  from  seizing  the  butler  round  the  throat. 

"Gently,  gently,  my  friend,"  interposed  Cleek, 
as  he  neatly  caught  Merriton's  uplhrown  arm.  "It 
won't  help  you,  you  know,  to  attack  a  possible  wit 
ness.  We've  got  to  hear  what  this  man  says,  to  know 
whether  he's  speaking  the  truth  or  not — and  we've 
got  to  go  into  his  evidence  as  dearly  as  we  go  into 
yours.  .  .  .  You're  pcrfeclly  right,  Doctor,  I 
am  a  policeman,  and  I'm  down  here  for  the  express 
purpose  of  investigating  this  appalling  affair.  The 
expression  of  your  face  so  plainly  said,  'What  right 
has  he  to  go  meddling  in  another  man's  affairs  like 
this?'  that  I  was  obliged  to  confess  the  fact,  for  the 
sake  of  my  self-respect.  My  friend  here,  Mr.  Lake, 
is  working  with  me."  At  this  he  gave  Borkins  a  keen, 
searching  look,  and  saw  in  the  man's  impassive  coun 
tenance  that  this  was  no  news  to  him.  "Now  then, 
my  man,  speak  out.  You  tell  us  you  heard  that 

139 


140         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

revolver-shot  when  your  master  fired  it  from  his  bed 
room.  Where  are  your  quarters?" 

"On  the  other  side  of  the  'ouse,  sir,"  returned 
Borkins,  flushing  a  trifle.  "But  I  was  up  in  me  dress 
ing  gown,  as  I'd  some'ow  thought  that  something 
was  amiss.  I'd  'card  the  quarrel  that,  'ad  taken 
place  between  Sir  Nigel  and  poor  Mr.  Wynne,  and 
I'd  'card  'im  go  out  and  slam  the  door  be'ind  'im.  So 
I  was  keeping  me  ears  peeled,  as  you  might  say." 

"I  see.  Doing  a  bit  of  eavesdropping,  eh?''  asked 
Cleek,  and  was  rewarded  by  an  angry  look  from  under 
the  man's  dark  brows  and  a  sudden  tightening  of  the 
lines  about  his  mouth.  "And  what  then?" 

"I  kept  about,  first  in  the  bathroom,  and  then  in 
the  'all,  keeping  my  ears  open,  for  I'd  an  idea  lhat 
one  day  things  would  come  to  a  'ead  between  'em. 
Sir  Nigel  had  taken  Mr.  Wynne's  girl  and — 

"Close  your  lying  mouth,  you  vile  beast!"  spat 
out  Merriton,  vehemently,  "and  don't  you  dare  to 
mention  her  name,  or  I'll  stop  you  for  ever  from 
speaking,  whether  I  hang  or  not!" 

Borkins  looked  at  Cleek,  and  his  look  quite  plainly 
conveyed  the  meaning  that  he  wished  the  detective 
to  notice  how  violent  Sir  Nigel  could  be  on  occasions, 
but  if  Cleek  saw  this  he  paid  not  the  slightest  heed. 

"Speak  as  briefly  as  you  can,  please,  and  give  as 
little  offence,"  he  cut  in,  in  a  sharp  tone,  and  Borkins 
resumed : 

"At  last  I  saw  Sir  Nigel  and  the  Doctor  and  Mr. 


Trapped !  141 

West  come  up  the  corridor  together.  I  'card  'eni 
bid  each  other  good-night,  saw  the  Doctor  go  into 
'is  room,  and  Mr.  West  return  to  the  smoking- 
room,  and  'card  Sir  Nigel's  key  turn  in  'is  lock.  After 
that  there  was  silence  for  a  bit,  and  all  I  'cars  was  'is 
moving  about  and  muttering  to  'imself,  as  though 
'e  was  angry  about  something.  Then,  just  as  I  was 
a-goin'  back  to  me  own  room,  I  'card  the  pistol-shot, 
and  nips  back  again.  I  'card  'im  say,  'Got  you — you 
devil!'  and  then  without  wail  in'  for  anything  else,  I 
runs  down  to  the  servants'  'all,  which  is  directly 
belcw  the  smoking  room  where  the  other  gentlemen 
were  talking  and  smoking.  I  peers  out  of  the  window, 
upward — for  it's  a  half-basement,  as  perhaps  you've 
noticed,  sir — and  there,  in  the  light  of  the  moon, 
I  see  Mr.  Wynne's  figure,  crouched  down  against  the 
gravel  of  the  front  path,  and  makin'  funny  sorts  of 
noises.  And  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  'e  went  still  as  a 
dead  man— and  'e  was  a  dead  man.  With  that  I 
flies  to  me  own  room,  frightened  half  out  of  me  wits — 
for  I'm  a  peace-levin'  person,  and  easily  scared, 
I'm  afraid — and  then  I  locks  mesclf  in,  sayin'  over 
and  over  to  meself  the  words,  'He's  done  it!  He's 
done  it  at  last!  He's  murdered  Mr.  Wynne,  he  has!' 
And  that's  all  I  'ave  to  say,  sir." 

*'And  a  damned  sight  too  much,  too,  you  liar!" 
threw  in  Merriton,  furiously,  his  face  convulsed  with 
passion,  the  veins  on  his  temple  standing  out  like 
whipcords.  "Why,  the  whole  story's  a  fake.  And 


142         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

if  it  were  true,  tell  me  how  I  could  get  Wynne's  body 
out  of  the  way  so  quickly,  and  without  any  one  hearing 
me,  when  every  man  in  that  smoking  room,  from  their 
own  wrords,  and  from  those  of  the  doctor  here,  was 
at  that  moment  straining  his  ears  for  any  possible 
sound?  The  smoking  room  flanks  straight  on  the 
drive,  Mr. — er — Headland—  He  caught  him 

self  up  just  in  time  as  he  saw  Cleek's  almost  imper 
ceptible  signal,  and  then  went  on,  his  voice  gaining 
in  strength  and  fury  with  every  word:  "I'm  not  a 
giant,  am  I?  I  couldn't  have  lifted  Wynne  alive  and 
with  his  own  assistance,  much  less  lift  him  dead  when 
he VI  be  a  good  sight  heavier.  Why,  the  thing's  a 
tissue  of  lies,  I  tell  you —  a  beastly,  underhanded, 
backbiting  tissue  of  lies,  and  if  ever  I  get  out  of  this 
thing  alive,  I'll  show  Borkins  exactly  what  I  think  of 
him.  And  why  you  should  give  credence  to  the  story 
of  a  lying  servant,  rather  than  to  mine,  I  cannot  see 
at  all.  Would  I  have  brought  you  here,  you,  a  man 
whose  name —  And  even  in  the  excitement  which 

had  him  in  its  grip  Nigel  felt  Cleek's  will,  power 
ful,  compelling,  preventing  his  giving  away  the  secret 
of  his  identity,  preventing  his  telling  that  it  was  the 
master  mind  among  the  criminal  investigators  of 
Europe  which  was  working  on  this  horrible  affair. 

He  went  on,  still  in  a  fury  of  indignation,  but  with 
the  knowledge  of  Mr.  Headland's  true  name  still 
locked  in  his  breast.  "Did  I  bring  you  here  as  a 
friend  and  give  you  every  opportunity  to  work  on 


Trapped  !  143 

this  strange  business,  to  have  you  arraign  me  as  a 
murderer?  Do  not  treat  me  as  a  suspect,  Mr.  De 
tective.  I  am  not  on  trial.  I  want  this  tiling  cleared 
up,  yes;  but  I  am  not  here  to  be  accused  of  the  murder 
of  a  man  who  was  a  guest  in  my  own  house,  by  the 
very  man  I  brought  in  to  find  the  true  murderer." 

"You  haven't  given  me  time  to  say  whether  I 
accuse  you  or  not,  Sir  Nigel/'  replied  Cleek,  patiently. 
"Now,  if  you'll  permit  me  to  speak,  we'll  take  up  this 
man's  evidence.  There  are  gaps  in  it  that  rather 
badly  want  filling  up,  and  there  are  thin  places  which 
I  hardly  think  would  hold  water  before  a  judge  and 
jury.  But  lie  swears  himself  a  witness,  and  there  you 
are.  And  as  for  believing  his  word  before  yours — who 
fired  the  shot,  Sir  Nigel?  Did  he,  or  did  you?  I  am 
a  representative  of  the  Law  and  as  such  I  entered 
your  house." 

Merriton  made  no  reply,  simply  held  his  head  a  little 
higher  and  clasped  the  edge  of  the  table  more  firmly. 

"Now,"  said  Cleek,  turning  to  the  butler  and  fixing 
him  with  his  keen  eyes.  "You  are  ready  to  swear 
that  this  is  true,  upon  your  oath,  and  knowing  that 
perjury  is  punishable  by  law?" 

"Yes,  sir."  Borkins's  voice  was  very  low  and 
rather  indistinct. 

"Very  well.  Then  may  I  ask  why  you  did  not  im 
mediately  report  this  matter  to  the  rest  of  the  party, 
or  to  the  police?" 

Something  flashed  across  Borkins's  face,  and  was 


144         The  Riddle  of  t/ie  Frozen  Flame 

gone  again.  He  cleared  his  throat  nervously  before 
replying : 

"I  felt  on  me  honour  to — Sir  Nigel,  sir,"  he  re 
turned  at  length.  "A  man  stands  by  his  master, 
you  know — if  Vs  a  good  one;  and  though  we'd  'ad 
words  before,  I  didn't  bear  'im  no  malice.  And  I 
didn't  want  the  old  'ouse  to  come  to  disgrace." 

"So  you  waited  until  things  looked  a  little  blacker 
for  him,  and  then  decided  to  cast  your  creditable 
scruples  to  1he  wind?"  said  Cleek,  the  queer  little 
one-sided  smile  travelling  up  his  cheek.  "I  take  it 
that  you  had  had  what  you  term  'words'  since  that 
fatal  date?" 

Borkins  nodded.  He  did  not  like  this  cross- 
examination,  and  his  nervousness  was  apparent  in 
voice  and  look  and  action. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"H'm.  And  if  we  put  that  to  one  side  altogether 
can  you  give  me  any  reason  why  I  should  believe 
this  unlikely  story  in  place  of  the  equally  unlikely  one 
that  your  master  has  told  me — knowing  what  I  do?" 

Borkins  twitched  up  his  head  suddenly,  his  eyes 
fear-filled,  his  face  turned  suddenly  gray. 

"I — I—  What  can  you  know  about  me,  but  that 
I  'ave  been  in  the  employment  of  this  family  nearly 
all  my  life?"  he  returned,  taken  off  his  guard  by 
Cleek's  remark.  "I'm  only  a  poor,  honest  workin' 
man,  sir,  been  in  the  same  place  nigh  on  to  twenty 
years  and— 


Trapped  !  145 

"And  hoping  you  can  hang  on  another  twenty,  I 
dare  say!"  threw  in  Clock,  sarcastically.  "Oh,  I 
know  more  about  you,  my  man,  than  I  care  to  tell. 
But  at  the  moment  that  doesn't  enter  into  the  matter. 
We'll  take  that  up  later.  Now  then,  there's  the  re 
volver.  Doctor,  you  should  be  useful  here;  if  you 
will  use  your  professional  skill  in  the  service  of  the 
law  that  seems  trying  to  embroil  your  friend.  I  want 
you  to  examine  the  head  wound,  please — the  head 
wound  of  the  man  called  Dacre  Wynne,  and,  if  you 
can,  remove  the  bullet  that  is  lodged  in  the  brain. 
Then  we  shall  have  a  chance  to  compare  it  with  those 
remaining  in  Sir  Nigel's  revolver." 

"I — can't  do  it,  Mr.  Headland,"  returned  Doctor 
Bartholomew,  firmly.  "I  won't  lend  myself  to  a 
plot  to  inveigle  this  poor  boy,  to  ruin  his  life — 

"And  I  demand  it — in  the  name  of  the  Law."  He 
motioned  to  Petrie  and  Hammond,  who  through  the 
whole  length  of  the  inquiry  had  stood  with  Dollops, 
beside  the  doorway.  They  came  forward  swiftly. 
"Arrest  Doctor  Bartholomew  for  treating  the  Law 
with  contempt — — 

"But,  I  say,  Mr.  Headland,  this  is  a  damned  out 
rage!" 

Cleek  held  up  a  hand. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  agree  with  you.  But  a  very 
necessary  one.  Besides" — he  smiled  suddenly  into 
the  seamed,  anxious  face  of  the  man — "who  knows 
but  that  bullet  may  prove  Sir  Nigel's  innocence? 


146         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Who  knows  but  that  it  is  not  the  same  kind  as  lie 
now  in  this  deadly  little  thing  here  in  my  hand?  It 
lies  with  you,  Doctor.  Must  I  arrest  him  now,  and 
take  him  off  to  the  public  jail  to  await  trial,  or  will 
you  give  him  a  sporting  chance?" 

The  doctor  looked  up  into  the  keen  eyes  bent  upon 
him,  his  own  equally  keen.  He  did  not  know 
whether  he  liked  this  man  of  the  lawr  or  not.  Some 
thing  of  the  man's  personality,  unfortunate  as  had 
been  its  revelation  during  this  past  trying  hour,  had 
caught  him  in  its  thrall.  He  measured  him,  eye  for 
eye,  but  ("leek's  never  wavered. 

"I've  r.o  instruments,"  he  said  at  last,  hedging  for 
time. 

"I  have  plenty — upstairs.  I  have  dabbled  a  little 
in  surgery  myself,  when  occasion  has  arisen.  I'll 
fetch  them  in  a  minute.  You  will?" 

The  doctor  stood  up  between  the  two  tall  police 
men  who  had  a  hand  upon  either  shoulder.  His  face 
was  set  like  a  mask. 

"It's  a  damned  outrage,  but  I  will,"  he  said. 

Dollops  was  gone  like  a  flash.  In  the  meantime 
Cleek  cleared  the  room.  He  sent  Merriton  off  to  the 
smoking  room  in  charge  of  Petrie  and  Hammond, 
and  Borkins  with  them — though  Borkins  was  to  be 
kept  in  the  hallway,  away  from  his  master's  touch 
and  voice. 

Cleek,  Mr.  Narkom,  and  the  doctor  remained 
alone  in  the  room  of  death,  where  the  doctor  set  to 


Trapped !  1 17 

his  gruesome  task.  Outside,  Constable  Roberta's 
burly  voice  could  be  heard  holding  forth  in  the  hall 
upon  the  fact  that  he'd  been  after  a  poacher  on  Mr. 
Jimmeson's  estate  over  to  Saltfleet,  and  wasn't 
in  when  they  came  for  him. 

Arid  the  operation  went  quietly  on. 

.  .  .  In  the  smoking  room,  with  Hammond 
and  Petrie  seated  like  deaf  mutes  upon  either  side  of 
him,  Merriton  reviewed  the  whole  awful  affair  from 
start  to  finish,  and  felt  his  heart  sink  like  lead  in  his 
breast.  Oh,  what  a  fool  he  had  been  to  have  these 
m  n  down  here!  What  a  fool!  To  see  them  wil 
fully  trumping  up  a  charge  of  murder  against  him 
self  was — well,  it  was  enough  to  make  any  sane  man 
lose  hold  on  his  reason.  And  'Toinette!  His  little 
'Toinette!  If  he  should  be  convicted  and  sent  to 
prison,  what  would  become  of  her?  It  would  break 
her  heart.  And  he  might  never  see  her  again!  A 
sudden  moisture  pricked  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes. 
God! — never  to  call  her  wije  !  .  .  .  How  long 
were  those  beasts  going  to  brood  in  there  over  the 
dead?  And  was  there  not  a  chance  that  the  bullet 
might  be  different?  After  all,  wasn't  it  almost  im 
possible  that  the  bullet  should  be  the  same?  His 
was  an  unusual  little  revolver  made  by  a  firm  in 
French  Africa,  having  a  different  sort  of  cartridge. 
Every  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  didn't  have  one— 
couldn't  afford  it,  in  the  first  place.  .  .  .  There 
was  a  chance — yes,  certainly  there  was  a  chance. 


148         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

.  .  .  .  His  blood  began  to  hammer  in  his 
veins  again,  and  his  heart  beat  rapidly.  Hope  went 
through  him  like  wine,  drowning  all  the  fears  and 
terrors  that  had  stalked  before  him  like  demons  from 
another  world.  He  heard,  with  throbbing  pulses, 
approaching  footsteps  in  the  hall.  His  head  was 
swimming,  his  feet  seemed  loaded  with  lead  so  that  he 
could  not  rise.  Then,  across  the  space  from  where 
Cleek  stood,  the  revolver  in  one  hand  and  the  tiny 
black  object  that  had  nested  in  a  dead  man's  brain  in 
the  other,  came  the  sound  of  his  voice,  speaking  in 
clear,  concise  sentences.  He  coufd  see  the  doctor's 
grave  face  over  the  curve  of  Mr.  Narkom's  fat 
shoulder.  For  a  moment  the  world  swam.  Then 
he  caught  the  import  of  what  Cleek  was  saying. 

''The  bullet  is  the  same  as  those  in  your  revolver, 
Sir  Nigel,"  he  said,  concisely.  "I  am  sorry,  but  I 
must  do  my  duty.  Constable  Roberts,  here  is  your 
prisoner.  I  arrest  this  man  for  the  murder  of  Dacre 
Wynne!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IN    THE    CELL 

'HAT  followed  was  like  a  sort  of  nightmare 
to  Merriton.  That  he  should  be  arrested 
for  the  murder  of  Dacre  Wynne  reeled 
drunkenly  in  his  brain.  Murderer!  They  were 
casing  him  a  murderer!  The  liars!  The  fools! 
Calling  him  a  murderer,  were  they?  And  taking  the 
word  of  a  crawling  worm  like  Borkins,  a  man  without 
honour  and  utterly  devoid  of  decency,  who  could 
stand  up  before  them  and  tell  them  a  story  that  was  a 
tissue  of  lies.  It  was  appalling!  \\hat  a  fiend  incar 
nate  this  man  Cleek  was!  Coming  here  at  Nigel's 
own  bidding,  and  then  suddenly  manipulating  the 
evidence,  until  it  caught  him  up  in  its  writhing  coils 
like  a  well-thrown  lasso.  Oh,  if  he  had  only  let  well 
enough  alone  and  not  brought  a  detective  to  the 
house.  Yet  how  was  he  to  know  that  the  man  would 
try  to  fix  a  murder  on  him,  himself?  Useless  for  him 
to  speak,  to  deny.  The  revolver-shot  and  the  cruel 
little  bullet  (which  showed  there  were  others  who 
possessed  that  sort  of  fire-arm  besides  himself) 
proved  too  easily,  upon  the  circumstantial  evidence 
theory  at  all  events,  that  his  word  was  naught. 

149 


150         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

He  went  through  the  next  hour  or  two  like  a 
man  who  has  been  tortured.  Silent,  but  bearing  the 
mark  of  it  upon  his  white  face  and  in  his  haggard 
eyes.  And  indeed  his  situation  was  a  terrible  and 
strange  one.  He  had  set  the  wheels  of  the  law  in 
motion;  he  himself  had  brought  the  relentless 
Hamilton  Cleek  into  the  affair  and  now  he  was  called 
a  murderer! 

In  the  little  cell  where  they  placed  him,  away  from 
the  gaping,  murmuring,  gesticulating  knot  of  vil 
lagers  that  had  marked  his  progress  to  the  police- 
station — for  news  flies  fast  in  the  country,  especially 
when  there  is  a  viper-tongue  like  Borkins's  to  wing  it 
on  its  way— he  was  thankful  for  the  momentary 
peace  and  quiet  that  the  place  afforded.  At  least 
lie  could  tJiinl' — think  and  pace  up  and  down  the 
narrow  room  with  its  tiny  barred  window  too  high 
for  a  man  to  reach,  and  its  hard  cam])  bedstead  wilh 
the  straw  mattress,  and  go  through  the  whole  miser 
able  fabrication  that  had  landed  him  there. 

The  second  day  of  confinement  brought  him  a 
visitor.  It  was  'Toinette.  His  jailer — a  rough- 
haired  village-hand  who  had  taken  up  wilh  [lie 
"Force"  and  wore  the  uniform  as  though  it  belonged 
to  someone  else  (which  indeed  it  had) — brought  him 
news  of  her  arrival.  It  cut  him  like  a  lash  to  see  her 
thus,  and  yet  the  longing  for  her  was  so  great  that 
it  superseded  all  else.  So  he  faced  the  man  with  a 
grim  smile. 


In  the  Cell  151 

"I  suppose,  Bennett,  that  I  shall  be  allowed  to  see 
Miss  Brellier?  You  have  made  enquiries?" 

"Yes,  sir."  Bennett  was  crestfallen  and  rather 
ashamed  of  his  duty. 

"  Any  restrictions?  " 

Bennett  hedged. 

"Well — if  you  please— Sir  Nigel — that  is 

"What  the  devil  are  they,  then?" 

"Constable  Roberts  give  orders  that  I  was  to  stay 
'ere  with  you — but  I  can  turn  me  back,"  returned 
Bennett,  with  flushing  countenance.  "Shall  I  show 
the  lady  in?" 

4  .   -\  •  5  J 

I  es. 

She  came.  Her  frock  was  of  some  clinging  gray 
material  that  made  her  look  more  fairy -like  than 
ever.  A  drooping  veil  of  gray  gauze  fell  like  a  mist 
before  her  face,  screening  from  him  the  anguished 
mirrors  of  her  eyes. 

"Nigel!     My  poor,  poor  Nigel!" 

"Little  Toinette!" 

"Oh,  Nigel — it  seems  impossible — utterly!  That 
yon  should  be  thought  to  have  killed  Dacre.  You  of 
al!  people!  Poor,  peace-loving  Nigel!  Something 
must  be  done,  dearest;  something  shall  be  done! 
You  shall  not  suffer  so,  for  someone  else's  sin — you 
shall  not!" 

He  smiled  at  her  wanly,  and  told  her  how  beautiful 
she  was.  It  was  useless  to  explain  to  her  the  utter 
futility  of  it  all.  There  was  the  revolver  and  there 


152         TJie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

the  bullet.  The  weapon  was  his — of  the  bullet  he 
could  say  nothing.  He  had  only  told  the  truth — 
and  they  had  not  believed  him. 

"Yes  see,  dear,"  he  said,  patiently,  "they  do  not 
believe  me.  They  say  I  killed  him,  and  Borkins — 
lying  devil  that  he  is — has  told  them  a  story  of  how 
the  thing  was  done;  sworn,  in  fact,  that  he  saw  it  all 
from  the  kitchen  window,  saw  Wynne  lying  in  the 
garden  path,  dying,  after  I  fired  at  him.  Of  course 
the  thing's  an  outrageous  lie,  but — they're  acting 
upon  it." 

"Nigel!     How  dared  he?" 

"Who?  Borkiris?  That  kind  of  a  devil  dares 
anything.  .  .  .  How's  your  uncle,  dear?  He 
has  heard,  of  course?" 

Her  face  brightened,  her  eyes  were  suddenly  moist. 
She  put  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders  and  tilted  her 
chin  so  that  she  could  see  his  eyes. 

"Uncle  Gustave  told  me  to  tell  you  that  he  does  not 
believe  a  word  of  it,  dearest ! "  she  said,  softly.  "  And 
he  is  going  to  make  investigations  himself.  He  is 
so  unhappy,  so  terribly  unhappy  over  it  all.  Such  a 
tangled  web  as  it  is,  such  a  wicked,  wicked  plot  they 
have  woven  about  you !  Oh,  Nigel  dearest — why  did 
you  not  tell  me  that  they  were  detectives,  these 
friends  of  yours  who  were  coming  to  visit?  If  you 
had  only  said — 

He  held  her  a  moment,  and  then,  leaning  forward, 
kissed  her  gently  upon  the  forehead. 


In  the  Cell  153 

"What  then,  p'titc?" 

"I  would  have  made  you  send  them  away — I 
would!  I  would!"  she  cried,  vehemently.  "They 
should  not  have  come — not  if  I  had  Yvired  to  them 
myself!  Something  told  me  that  day,  after  you  were 
gone,  that  a  dreadful  thing  would  happen.  I  was 
frightened  for  you — frightened!  And  I  could  not 
tell  why!  I  kept  laughing  at  myself,  trying  to  tease 
myself  out  of  it,  as  though  it  were  simply — what  you 
call  it?— the  'blues'.  And  now— this!" 

lie  nodded. 

*  And  now — this,"  he  said,  grimly,  and  laughed. 

Bennett,  hand  upon  watch,  turned  apologetically 
at  this  juncture. 

"Sorry,  Sir  Nigel,"  he  said,  "hut  time's  up.  Ten 
minutes  is  the  time  allowed  a  prisoner,  and — and — I'm 
afeared  the  young  leddy  must  go.  It  'urts  me  to  tell 
you,  sir,  but — you'll  understand.  Dooty  is  dooty ." 

"Yes,  doubtless,  Bennett,  though  some  people's 
idea  of  it  is  different  from  others',"  returned  Merri- 
ton,  with  a  bleak  smile.  "Have  no  fear,  'Toinette. 
There  is  still  plenty  of  time,  and  I  shall  engage  the 
finest  counsel  in  the  land  to  stand  for  me.  This  knot 
shall  be  broken  somehow,  this  tissue  of  lies  must  have 
a  flaw  somewhere.  And  nowadays  circumstantial 
evidence,  you  know,  doesn't  hold  too  much  water  in 
a  court  of  law.  God  bless  you,  little  'Toinette." 

She  clung  to  him  a  moment,  her  face  suddenly 
lightening  at  the  tenor  of  his  words — so  bravely 


154         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

spoken,  with  so  little  conviction  behind  them.     But 
they  had  helped  her,  and  for  that  he  was  glad. 

When  she  had  gone,  he  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his 
narrow  bed  and  dropped  his  face  in  the  cup  of  his 
hands.  How  hopeless  it  seemed.  What  chance  had 
he  of  a  future  now— with  Cleek  against  him?  Cleek 
the  unraveller  of  a  thousand  riddles  that  had  puzzled 
the  cleverest  brains  in  the  universe!  Cleek  would 
never  admit  to  having  made  a  blunder  this  time — 
though  there  was  a  sort  of  grim  satisfaction  in  the 
knowledge  that  he  had  blundered,  though  he  himself 
was  the  victim. 

.  He  sat  there  for  a  long  time,  thinking, 
his  brain  wrcaried,  his  heart  like  lead.  Bennett's 
heavily -booted  feet  upon  the  stone  floor  brought  him 
back  again  to  realities. 

"There's  another  visitor,  sir,"  said  he.  "A  gentle 
man.  Seen  'im  up  at  the  Towers,  I  'ave.  Name  of 
West,  sir.  Constable  Roberts  says  as  'ow  you  may 
see  him." 

IIowT  kind  of  the  constable,  thought  Nigel  bitterly. 
His  mouth  twisted  into  a  wry  smile.  Then  his  eyes 
lightened  suddenly.  Tony  Wrcst,  eh?  So  all  the 
rats  hadn't  deserted  the  sinking  ship,  after  all. 
There  were  still  the  old  doctor,  who  came,  cheering 
him  up  with  kind  words,  bringing  him  books  that  he 
thought  he  could  read— as  though  a  man  could  read 
books,  under  such  circumstances — and  now  Tony 
West — good  old  West! 


In  the  Cell  155 

West  strode  in,  his  five-feet-three  of  manhood 
looking"  as  I  hough  it  were  ready  to  throw  the  jailer's 
six-feet-one  out  of  the  window  upon  request,  and 
seized  Nigel's  hand,  wringing  it  furiously. 

"Good  old  Nigel!  Gad!  but  it's  fine  to  see  you. 
And  what  fool  put  you  in  this  idiotic  predicament? 
Wring  his  damned  neck,  I  would.  How  are  you,  old 
sport?" 

Under  such  light  badinage  did  "West  try  to  conceal 
his  real  feeling  but  there  was  a  tremour  of  the  lips  that 
spoke  so  banteringly. 

Good  old  "West!     A  friend  in  a  thousand, 

''Nice  sort  of  place  for  the  Squire  of  the  Manor  to 
be  disporting  himself,  isn't  it?"  returned  Merriton, 
fighting  his  hardest  to  keep  his  composure  and  reply 
in  the  same  light  tone.  "I — I — damn  it,  Tony,  you 
don't  believe  it,  do  you?" 

West  went  red  to  the  rim  of  his  collar.  He  choked 
with  the  vehemence  of  his  response. 

"Believe  it,  man?  D'you  think  I'm  crazy? 
What  sort  of  a  fool  would  I  be  to  believe  it?  Wasn't 
I  there,  that  night,  with  you?  Wait  until  I  give  my 
evidence  in  court.  Bullet  or  no  bullet,  you're  no — 
no  murderer,  Nigel;  I'd  swear  my  life  away  on  that. 
There  were  others  on  worse  terms  with  Wrynne  than 
you,  old  chap.  There  was  Stark,  for  one.  Stark 
used  to  borrow  money  from  him  in  the  old  days,  you 
know,  until  they  had  a  devil  of  a  shindy  over  an 
I.  O.  U.  and  the  friendship  bu'st.  You'd  no  more 


156         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flaine 

reason  to  kill  him  than  Lester  Stark,  I  swear.  Or 
me,  for  that  matter." 

"No,  I'd  no  reason  to  kill  him,  Tony.  But  they'll 
take  that  quarrel  we  had  over  the  Frozen  Flame  that 
night,  and  bring  it  up  against  me  in  court.  They'll 
bring  everything  against  me;  everything  that  can 
be  twisted  or  turned  or  bullied  into  blackening  my 
name.  If  ever  I  get  scot-free,  I'll  kill  that  man 
Borldns." 

West  put  up  his  hand  suddenly. 

"Don't,"  he  said,  quietly;  "or  they'll  be  putting 
that  against  you,  too.  Believe  me,  Nigel,  old  boy, 
the  Law's  the  greatest  duffer  on  earth.  By  the  way, 
here's  a  piece  of  news  for  you !  Heard  it  as  I  stopped 
in  at  the  Towers  this  morning.  Saw  that  man 
Headland,  the  detective.  He  told  me  to  tell  you,  and 
I  clean  forgot.  But  they  found  an  I.  O.  U.  on 
Wynne's  body,  an  I.  O.  LT.  for  two  thou'— in  Lester 
Stark's  name.  Dated  two  nights  before  the  party. 
Looks  a  bit  funny,  that,  doesn't  it?" 

Funny?  Merriton  felt  his  heart  suddenly  bound 
upward,  and  as  suddenly  drop  back  in  his  breast  like 
lead.  Glad  that  there  was  a  chance  for  another  pal 
to  come  under  the  same  brutal  sway  as  he  had? 
What  sort  of  a  friend  was  he,  anyway?  But  an 
I.  O.  II. !  .  .  .  And  in  Lester  Stark's  name !  He 
remembered  the  black  looks  that  passed  between  the 
two  of  them  that  night,  remembered  them  as  though 
they  had  been  but  yesterday.  He  jerked  his  chin  up. 


' '  Nigel!     My  poor,  poor  Xigel!  '  " 


In  the  Cell  157 

"What 're  they  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"Headland  told  me  to  tell  you  that  he  was  going  to 
investigate  the  matter  further.  That  you  were  to 
keep  up  your  heart.  .  .  .  Seemed  a  decent  sort 
of  a  chap,  I  must  say." 

Keep  up  his  heart!  .  .  .  And  there  was  a 
chance  of  someone  else  taking  his  share  of  the 
damnable  thing,  after  all!  .  .  .  But  Lester 
Stark  wouldn't  kill.  Perhaps  not— and  yet,  some 
months  ago  he  had  told  him  to  his  face  that  he'd  like 
to  send  Wynne's  body  to  burn  in  hell !  .  .  .  H'm. 
Wei1,  he  would  have  to  keep  his  mouth  shut  upon 
that  conversation,  at  all  events,  or  they'd  have  poor 
Stark  by  the  heels  the  next  minute.  .  .  .  But 
somehow  his  heart  had  lightened.  Cleek  didn't 
seem  such  a  bad  chap,  after  all.  And  they  couldn't 
hang  him  yet.  anyhow. 

For  the  rest  of  the  long,  dreary  day  the  memory  of 
i  hat  I.  O.  II.  with  Lester  Stark's  name  sprawled 
across  the  bottom  of  it,  in  the  dashing  caligraphy  that 
he  knew,  danced  before  his  mind's  eye  like  a  fleeting 
hope,  making  the  day  less  long. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

POSSIBLE    EXCITEMENT 

'EANWHILE,  Cleek,  Mr.  Narkom,  and  Dol 
lops  stayed  on  at  the  Towers  for  such  time 
as  it  would  take  to  have  the  coroner's 
inquest  arranged,  and  Merriton  brought  up  before 
the  local  magistrate. 

Mr.  Narkom  was  frankly  uneasy  over  the  whole 
affair. 

"There's  something  fishy  in  it,  Cleek,"  he  kept 
saying.  "I  don't  like  the  looks  of  it.  Taking  that 
innocent  boy  up  for  a  murder  which  I  feel  certain  he 
never  committed.  Of  course,  circumstantial  evi 
dence  points  strongly  against  him,  but— 

"He's  better  out  of  the  way,  at  all  events,"  inter 
posed  Cleek.  "Mind  you,  I  don't  say  the  chap  is 
innocent.  Men  of  Wynne's  calibre  have  the  knack 
of  raising  the  very  devil  in  a  person  wrho  is  under  their 
influence  for  long.  And  there's  Borkins's  story." 
The  queer  little  one-sided  smile  looped  up  his  cheek 
for  a  moment  and  was  gone  again  in  a  twinkling. 
He  crossed  to  wrhere  Mr.  Narkom  stood,  and  put  a 
hand  on  his  arm.  "Tell  me,"  he  said,  quietly,  "did 
you  ever  hear  of  a  chap  squirming  and  moaning  and 

158 


Possible  Excitement  159 

doing  the  rest  of  the  things  that  the  man  said  Wynne 
was  doing  in  the  garden  pathway,  when  a  bullet  had 
got  him  clean  through  the  brain?  Something  'fishy' 
there,  if  you  like." 

" I  should  think  so,"  replied  Mr.  Xarkora.  "  Why, 
the  chap  would  have  died  instantly.  Then  you  think 
Borkins  himself  is  guilty?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  do  not,"  returned  Cleek, 
emphatically.  "If  my  theory's  correct,  Borkins  is 
not  the  murderer  of  Dacre  Wynne.  Much  more  likely 
to  be  Nigel  Merriton,  for  that  matter.  Then  there's 
the  question  of  this  I.  O.  U.  that  I  found  on  the  body. 
Signed  'Lester  Stark',  and  the  doctor — Gad!  what  a 
loyal  friend  to  have! — told  me  that  Lester  Stark, 
Merriton,  and  a  lit  Lie  man  called  We.st  were  bosom 
friends  and  club-mates." 

"Then  perhaps  the  man  Stark  killed  him,  after 
all?"  threw  in  Mr.  Narkom  at  this  juncture,  and  there 
was  a  tinge  of  eagerness  in  his  excited  tones,  which 
made  Cleek  whirl  round  upon  him  and  say,  accusingly, 
"Old  friend,  Merriton  has  won  your  heart  as  he  has 
won  others'.  You're  dead  nuts  on  the  youngster,  and 
J  must  say  he  does  seem  such  a  clean,  honest,  up 
standing  young  fellow.  But  you're  ready  to  con 
vict  any  one  of  the  murder  of  Dacre  Wynne  but 
Merriton  himself.  Own  up  now;  you've  a  sneaking 
regard  for  the  fellow!" 

Mr.  Narkom  reddened. 

"Well,  if  you  want  the  truth  of  it — I  have!"  he 


160         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

said,  finally,  in  an  "I-don't-care-what-the-devil-you- 
think"  sort  of  voice.  "He's  exactly  the  kind  of 
chap  I'd  like  for  a  son  of  my  own,  and — and — dash 
it!  I  don't  like  seeing  him  in  the  lock-up;  and  that's 
the  long  and  short  of  it!" 

"So  long  as  it's  only  the  long  arid  short,  and  not  the 
end  of  it,  it  doesn't  greatly  matter,"  returned  Cleek. 
"Hello!  Is  that  you,  Dollops?" 

"Yessir." 

"Any  news  for  me?  Found  that  chap  with  the 
straggling  black  moustache  that  tried  to  do  me  in  the 
other  night?  I've  not  a  doubt  that  you've  dis 
covered  the  answer  to  the  whole  riddle,  by  the  look 
upon  your  face." 

Dollops  cautiously  approached,  looking  over  his 
shoulder  as  though  he  expected  any  minute  that  the 
cadaverous  face  of  Borkins  would  peer  in  at  him,  or 
that  perhaps  Dacre  Wynne  himself  would  rise  from 
the  dead  and  shake  an  accusing  finger  in  his  face. 
He  reached  Cleek  and  laid  a  timid  hand  upon  the 
detective's  arm.  Then  he  bent  his  face  close  to 
Cleek's  ear. 

"Well,  I've  an  inklin*  that  I'm  well  on  to  the 
untyin'  of  it,  s'help  me  if  I  ain't!"  he  whispered  in 
highly  melodramatic  tones. 

Cleek  laughed,  but  looked  interested  at  once, 
while  Mr.  Narkom  prepared  to  give  his  best  attention 
to  what  the  lad  had  to  say. 

"Traced  the  blighter  wiv  the  straggling  whiskers 


Possible  Excitement  161 

on  'is  lip,  anyway!"  he  said,  triumphantly,  casting 
still  another  glance  over  his  shoulder  in  the  direction 
of  the  door,  and  lowering  his  tones  still  further. 
"  Caught  a  glimpse  of  'im  'long  by  the  Saltfleet  Road 
this  afternoon,  Guv'nor,  and  thinks  I  to  myself, 
'You're  the  blinkin'  blighter  wot  tried  to  do  the 
Guv'nor  in,  are  you?  Well,  you  wait,  my  lad! 
There's  a  little  taste  of  'ell-sauce  a-comin'  your  way 
wot'll  make  you  sit  up  and  bawl  for  yer  muvver.' 
He'd  got  on  sailorin'  togs,  Mr.  Cleek,  an'  a  black  'at 
pulled  down  low  over  one  eye.  Mate  wiv  'im  looked 
like  a  real  bad  'un.  Gold  rings  in  'is  ears  'e'd  got 
like  a  bloomin'  lydy,  an'  a  blue  sweater,  and  sailor's 
breeches.  Chin  whiskers,  too,  wot  were  somethin 
like  rotten  seaweed.  Oh,  a  'eavenly  specimen  of  a 
chap  'e  were,  I  kin  tell  you!" 

"On  the  Saltfleet  Road,  eh?"  interposed  Cleek, 
rapidly,  as  the  boy  paused  a  moment  for  breath. 
"So?  My  midnight  friend  is  doubtless  sailing  for 
foreign  parts,  as  the  safest  place  when  coroner's 
evidence  begins  to  get  too  hot  for  him.  And  what 
then,  Dollops?" 

"Couldn't  find  out  much  else,  Mr.  Cleek,  'cept 
to  trace  the  place  where  the  beggar  'angs  out,  and 
that's  a  bit  of  a  shanty  just  off  Saltfleet  Bay,  an'  a 
stone's  throw  from  what  looks  ter  me  very  like  a 
boat-factory  of  some  kind.  Reckon  the  chap's 
employed  there,  as,  from  a  casual  chat  wiv  a  sailorin' 
Johnny  in  the  bar  parlour  of  the  'Pig  and  Whistle', 


1G2         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

where  I  wuz  a-linin'  of  me  empty  stummick  (detectin' 
is  that  'imgry  work,  sir!)  wiv  a  sossage  an'  a  pint  o* 
four-and-er-'arf,  this  feller  tells  me  that  pretty  near 
everyone  around  here  works  there.  I  arsked  'im 
wot  they  did,  an'  'e  says,  'Make  boats  an'  fings,  with 
now  an'  agin  a  little  flurry  in  shippin'  ter  break  the 
monotony.'  .  .  .  Anyway,  I  traced  the  devil 
wot  nearly  got  you,  Guv'nor,  and  that's  somefing. 
And  if  I  don't  give  'im  a  taste  of  the  'appy  'ereafter. 
well,  my  name's  not  Dollops." 

Cleek  laughed  and  laid  a  hand  upon  the  lad's 
shoulder. 

"You've  done  a  lot  toward  unravelling  the 
mystery,  Dollops,  my  lad,"  he  said.  "A  regular 
right-hand  man  you  are,  eh,  Mr.  Narkom?  This 
evening  we'll  hie  us  to  the  Saltfieet  Road  and  see 
what  further  the  'Pig  and  Whistle'  can  reveal  to  us. 
It'll  be  like  the  old  times  of  the  '  Twisted-Arm'  days, 
boy,  where  every  second  held  its  own  unknown  and 
certain  danger.  Give  us  an  appetite  for  our  break 
fast,  eh?" 

He  laughed  again,  a  happy,  schoolboyish  laugh 
which  brought  a  positively  shocked  expression  to 
Mr.  Narkom's  round  face. 

"My  dear  Cleek ! "  he  expostulated.  " Really,  one 
might  think  that  you  actually  enjoyed  this  sort  of 
thing!  One  of  these  fine  days,  if  you're  not  careful, 
you'll  be  caught  napping,  and  it'll  take  all  Dollops's 
and  mv  ingenuity  to  get  vou  out  of  the  clutches. 


Possible  Excitement  163 

I  do  beg  of  you  to  be  careful — for  Ailsa's  sake,  if  not 
for  mine." 

At  mention  of  the  name,  for  a  second  the  whole 
look  upon  Cleek's  face  altered.  Something  came 
into  his  eyes  that  softened  their  keenness,  something 
settled  down  over  his  countenance,  wiping  away  the 
mirth  and  the  grim  lines  together.  He  sighed. 

"Heigho!"  he  said,  softly,  spinning  round  upon  his 
heel  and  surveying  Mr.  Narkom  with  a  half-smile 
upon  his  lips.  "I  will  be  careful,  dear  friend.  I 
promise.  And  I  have  given  my  word  to — her — as 
well.  And  that  the  life  of  Hamilton  Cleek  should  be 
so  precious  to  any  such  angel  as  that — -well,  it  'fair 
beats  me',  as  Dollops  would  say.  .  .  .  I'll  be 
careful,  all  right.  You  may  depend  upon  it.  But 
Dollops  and  I  are  going  to  have  a  little  outing  on  our 
own.  We'll  ransack  the  'make-up'  box  after  lunch 
and  see  what  it  can  produce.  And  if  we  don't  bring 
back  something  worth  hearing  to  you  on  our  return 
to-night,  then  I'll  retire  from  Scotland  Yard  al 
together  and  take  a  kindergarten  class. 
Gad!  I  feel  sorry  for  young  Merriton.  But  there's 
no  other  course  open  to  us  at  present  but  to  keep  him 
where  he  is.  Coroner's  inquest  takes  place  to 
morrow  afternoon,  and  a  lot  may  happen  in  the 
meantime." 

Mr.  Narkom  gravely  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  like  the  tiling  at  all,  Headland,"  he 
supplemented  slowly,  lighting  a  fresh  cigarette  from 


164         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

the  stump  of  the  other  one,  and  blowing  a  cloud  of 
smoke  into  the  air.  "There's  something  here  that 
we  haven't  got  at.  Something  big.  I  feel  it." 

"Well,  you'll  have  that  feeling  further  augmented 
before  many  more  days  are  over,  my  friend,"  re 
turned  Cleek,  meaningly.  "What  did  the  letter  from 
Headquarters  say?  I  noticed  you  got  one  this 
morning,  and  recognized  it  by  the  way  the  stamp  was 
set  on  the  envelope — though  I  must  say  your  secre 
tary  is  more  than  discreet.  It  looked  for  all  the  world 
like  a  love-letter,  which  no  doubt  your  curious  friend 
Borkins  thought  it  was." 

But  if  Cleek  appeared  in  fine  fettle  at  the  prospect 
of  a  possible  exciting  evening  with  Dollops,  Mr. 
Narkoin's  barometer  did  not  register  the  same  com 
forting  high  altitude.  He  did  not  smile. 

"Oh,  it  had  to  do  with  these  continual  bank 
robberies,"  he  replied  with  a  sigh.  "They're  enough 
to  wear  a  man  right  out.  Seem  so  simple,  and  all  that, 
and  yet — never  a  trace  left.  Fellowes  reports  that 
another  one  took  place,  at  Ealing.  As  usual,  only 
gold  stolen.  Not  a  bank-note  touched.  They'll 
be  holding  us  up  in  the  main  road,  like  Dick  Turpin, 
if  the  robbers  are  allowed  to  continue  on  their  way  like 
this.  It's  damnable,  to  say  the  least!  The  beggars 
seem  to  get  olf  scot-free  every  time.  If  this  case 
here  wasn't  so  difficult  and  important,  I'd  be  off  up  to 
London  to  have  a  look  into  things  again.  Frankly, 
it  worries  me." 


Possible  Excitement  165 

Cleck  lifted  a  restraining  hand. 

"Don't  let  it  do  anything  so  foolish  as  that  to  you, 
old  man,"  he  interposed.  "Give  'em  rope  to  hang 
themselves,  lots  of  rope.  This  is  just  the  opportunity 
they  want.  Give  orders  for  nothing  to  be  done. 
Let  'em  have  a  good  run  for  their  money,  and  by-and- 
by  you'll  have  'cm  so  they'll  eat  out  of  your  hand. 
There's  nothing  like  patience  in  this  sort  of  a  job. 
They're  bound  to  get  careless  soon,  and  then  will  be 
your  chance." 

"I  wish  I  could  feel  as  confident  about  it  as  you 
do,  returned  31  r.  Narkom,  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 
"Bui:  you've  solved  so  many  unsolvable  riddles  in 
your  time,  man,  so  I  suppose  I'll  just  have  to  trust 
your  judgment,  and  let  your  opinion  cheer  me  up. 
Still.  .  .  .  Ah,  Borkins!  lunch  ready?  I  must 
say  I  don't  like  eating  the  food  of  a  man  I've  just 
placed  in  prison,  but  I  suppose  one  must  eat.  And 
there  are  a  few  very  necessary  enquiries  to  be  gone 
into  before  the  coroner's  inquest  to-morrow.  The  men 
have  been  up  from  the  local  morgue,  haven't  they?" 

Borkins,  who  had  tapped  discreetly  upon  the  door 
and  then  put  in  a  sleek  head  to  announce  lunch,  came 
a  little  farther  into  the  room  and  replied  in  the 
affirmative.  Save  for  a  slight  light  of  triumph  which 
seemed  to  flicker  in  his  close-set  eyes,  and  play 
occasionally  about  his  narrow  lips,  there  was  nothing 
to  show  in  his  demeanour  that  such  an  extremely 
large  pebble  as  his  master's  conviction  for  murder  had 


166         The  Riddle  of  tJie  Frozen  Flame 

caused  the  ripples  to  break  on  the  smooth  surface  of 
his  life's  tenor. 

Cleek  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  into  the  air  and  swung 
one  leg  across  the  other  with  a  sort  of  devil-may- 
care  air  that  was  part  of  his  Headland  make-up  in 
this  piece. 

"Well,"  said  he,  off-handedly,  "all  I  can  say  is,  I 
wouldn't  like  to  be  in  your  master's  shoes,  Borkins. 
He's  guilty — not  a  doubt  of  it;  and  he'll  certainly 
be  called  to  justice." 

"You  think  so?"  An  undercurrent  of  eagerness 
ran  in  Borkins's  tone. 

"Most  assuredly  I  do.  Not  a  chance  for  him— 
poor  beggar.  He'll  possibly  swing  for  it,  too !  .Pleas 
ant  conjecture  before  lunch,  I  must  say.  And  we'll 
have  it  all  cold  if  we  don't  look  sharp  about  it,  Lake, 
old  chap.  Come  along." 

They  spent  the  afternoon  in  dis 
cussing  the  case  bit  by  bit,  probing  into  it,  tearing  it 
to  ribbons,  analysing,  comparing,  rehearsing  once 
more  the  scene  of  that  fateful  night  when  Dacre 
Wynne  had  crossed  the  Fens,  and,  according  to  every 
one's  but  Borkins's  evidence,  had  never  returned. 
By  evening  Mr.  Narkom,  note-book  in  hand,  was 
suffering  with  writer's  cramp,  and  complained  of  a 
headache. 

As  Cleek  rose  from  this  private  investigation  and 
stretched  his  hands  over  his  head,  he  gave  a  sudden 
little  lamrh. 


Possible  Excitement  167 

"Well,  you'll  be  able  to  rest  yourself  as  much  as 
you  like  this  evening,  Mr.  Lake,"  he  said,  lightly, 
trying  the  muscles  of  his  right  arm  with  his  left  hand, 
and  nodding  as  he  felt  them  ride  up,  smooth  and 
firm  as  ivory,  under  his  coat -sleeve.  "I'm  not  in 
such  bad  fettle  for  an  amateur,  if  anything  in  the 
nature  of  a  scrap  comes  along,  after  all.  Though  I'm 
not  anticipating  any  fighting,  I  can  assure  you. 
There's  the  morning's  papers,  and  the  local  rag  with 
various  lurid — and  inaccurate — accounts  of  the  whole 
ghastly  affair.  Merriton  seems  to  have  a  good  many 
friends  in  these  parts,  and  the  local  press  is  strong  in 
his  favour.  But  that's  as  far  as  it  goes.  At  any 
rate,  they'll  keep  you  interested  until  we  come  home 
again.  By  the  way,  you  might  drop  a  hint  to 
Borkins  that  I  shall  be  writing  some  letters  in  my 
room  to-night,  and  don't  want,  to  be  disturbed,  and 
that  if  he  wants  to  go  out,  Dollops  will  post  them  for 
me  and  see  to  my  wants;  will  you?  I  don't  want  him 
to  'suspicion'  anything." 

Mr.  Narkoin  nodded.  He  snapped  his  note-book 
to,  and  bound  the  elastic  round  it,  as  Cleek  crossed 
to  the  door  and  threw  it  open. 

"I'll  be  going  up  to  my  room  now,  Lake,"  he  said, 
in  clear,  high  tones  that  carried  down  the  empty  hall 
way  to  whatever  listener  might  be  there  to  hear 
them.  "I've  sonic  letters  to  write.  One  to  my 
fiancee,  you  know,  and  naturally  I  don't  want  to  be 
disturbed." 


168         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Narkom,  equally  clearly. 
"So  long." 

Then  the  door  closed  sharply,  and  Cleek  mounted 
the  stairs  to  his  room,  whistling  softly  to  himself 
meanwhile,  just  as  Borkins  rounded  the  corner  of  the 
dining-room  door  and  acknowledged  his  friendly  nod 
with  one  equally  friendly. 

A  smile  played  about  the  corners  of  the  man's 
mouth,  and  his  eyes  narrowed,  as  he  watched  Cleek 
disappear  up  the  stairs. 

"Faugh!"  he  said  to  the  shadows.  "So  much  for 
yer  Lunnon  policeman,  eh?  Writin'  love-letters  on 
a  night  like  this!  Young  sap'ead!" 

Then  he  swung  upon  his  heel,  and  retraced  his 
steps  to  the  kitchen.  Upstairs  in  the  dark  passage 
way,  Cleek  stood  and  laughed  noiselessly,  his 
shoulders  shaking  with  the  mirth  that  swayed  him. 
Borkins's  idea  of  u  'Lunnon  policeman'  had  pleased 
him  mightily. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

WHAT   TOOK    PLACE    AT   "THE    PIG    AND    WHISTLE" 

IT  WAS  a   night  without  a  moon.     Great  gray 
cloud -brinks  swamped  the  sky,  and  there  was  a 
heavy  mist  that  blurred  the  outline  of  tree  and 
fence    and    made  the  broad,   flat    stretches    of    the 
marshes  into  one  impenetrable  blot  of  inky  darkness. 

Two  men,  in  ill-fitting  corduroys  and  soiled  blue 
jerseys,  their  swarthy  necks  girt  about  by  vivid 
handkerchiefs,  and  their  big-peaked  caps  pulled  well 
down  over  their  eyes,  made  their  way  along  the  nar 
row  lane  that  led  from  Merriton  Towers  to  Salt- 
fleet  Bay.  At  the  junction  with  Saltfleet  Road,  two 
other  figures  slipped  by  them  in  the  half-mist,  and 
after  peering  at  then  from  under  the  screen  of  dark 
caps,  sang  out  a  husky  "Good-night,  mates."  They 
answered  in  unison,  the  bigger,  broader  one  whistling 
as  he  swung  along,  his  pace  slackening  a  trifle  so 
that  the  two  newcomers  might  pass  him  and  get  on 
into  the  shadows  ahead. 

Once  they  had  done  so,  he  ceased  his  endless,  ear- 
piercing  whistle  and  turned  to  his  companion,  his 
hand  reaching  out  suddenly  and  catching  the  sleeve 
nearest  him. 

169 


170         Tlie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"That  was  Borkins!"  he  said  in  a  muttered  under 
tone,  as  the  two  figures  in  front  swung  away  into  the 
shadows.  "Did  you  see  his  face,  lad?" 

"I  did,"  responded  Dollops,  with  asperity.  "And 
a  fine  specimen  of  a  face  it  were,  too !  If  I  were  born 
wiv  that  tacked  on  to  me  anatomy,  I'd  drown  meself 
in  the  nearest  pond  afore  I'd  'ave  courage  to  survive 
it.  ...  Yus,  it  was  Borkins  all  right,  Guv'nor, 
and  the  other  chap  wiv  him,  the  one  wir  the  black 
whiskers  and  the  lanting  jor — 

"Hush,  boy!  Not  so  loud!"  Clock's  voice  cut 
into  the  whispered  undertone,  a  mere  thread  of  sound, 
but  a  sound  to  be  obeyed.  "I  recognized  him,  too," 
interrupted  Cleek.  "My  friend  of  the  midnight 
visit,  and  the  plugged  pillow.  I'm  not  likely  to  for 
get  that  face  in  a  day's  march,  I  can  promise  you. 
And  with  Borkins!  Well,  that  was  to  be  expected. 
of  course.  The  next  thing  to  consider  is— --whal  the 
devil  has  a  common  sailor  or  factory-hand  to  do  \vith 
a  chap  like  Dacre  Wynne?  Or  Merriton,  for  1«hat 
matter.  I  never  heard  him  say  he'd  any  interest 
in  factories  of  any  kind,  and  I  dare  swear  he  hasn't. 
And  yet,  what's  this  dark  stranger — as  the  fortune 
tellers  say — doing,  poking  his  nose  into  the  affair, 
and  trying  to  murder  me,  just  because  I  happen 
to  be  down  here  to  investigate  the  question  of  the 
Frozen  Flames?  .  .  .  Bit  of  a  problem,  eh,  Dollops? 
Frozen  Flames,  Country  Squires,  Dark  Strangers 
who  are  sailormen,  and  a  butler  who  has  been  years 


At  "The  Pig  and  Whistle"  171 

in  the  family  service;  there  you  have  the  ingredients 
for  quite  a  nice  little  mix-up.  Now,  I  wonder  where 
those  two  are  bound  for?  " 

"  "Pig  and  Whistle',"  conjectured  Dollops.  "  Least 
ways,  tha's  where  old  Black  Whiskers  is  a-makin' 
for.  Got  friend  Borkins  in  tow  as  well  ter-night,  so 
things  ought  ter  be  gittin'  interestin'.  Gawd!  sir, 
it  you  don't  looka  fair  cut-throat  I  an't  ever  seen 
one. 

"Makes  me  blood  run  cold  jist  ter  squint  at  yer,  it 
does!  That  there  moustache  'ud  git  yer  a  fortin'  on 
the  ,  tage,  I  swear.  Mr.  Narkom'd  faint  if  'e  saw  yer, 
an'  I'm  not  so  certing  I  wouldn't  do  a  bunk  ineself,  if 
I  met  yer  in  a  dark  lane,  so  to  speak.  'Ow  yer  does 
the  expression  fair  beats  me." 

Cleek  laughed  good-humouredly.  The  something 
theatrical  in  his  make-up  was  gratified  by  the  ad 
miration  of  his  audience.  He  linked  his  arm  through 
the  boy's. 

''Birthright,  Dollops,  birthright!"  he  made  an 
swer,  speaking  in  a  leisurely  tone.  "Every  man  has 
one,  you  know.  There  is  the  birthright  of  princes — 
he  sighed.  "Your  birthright  is  a  willing  soul  and  an 
unwavering  loyalty.  Mine?  A  mere  play  of  fea 
ture  that  can  transform  me  from  one  man  into  an 
other.  A  poor  thing  at  best,  Dollops,  but  .... 
Hello!  Lights  ahead!  What  is  it,  my  pocket 
guide-book?" 

"Pig  and  Whistle',"  grunted  Dollops  in  a  husky 


172         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

voice,  glad  of  an  excuse  to  hide  his  pleasure  at  Cleek's 
appreciation  of  his  character. 

"IFm.  That's  good.  The  fun  commences.  Don't 
forget  your  part,  boy.  We're  sailoring  men  back 
from  a  cruise  to  Jamaica  and  pretty  near  penniless. 
Lost  our  jobs,  and  looking  for  others.  Told  there  was 
a  factory  somewhere  in  this  part  of  the  world  that 
had  to  do  with  shipping,  and  have  walked  down  from 
London.  Took  six  days,  mind:  don't  forget  that. 
And  a  devilish  long  walk,  too,  I  reckon!  But  that's 
by  the  way.  Your  name's  Sam — Sam  Robinson. 
Mine — Bill  Jones  .  .  .  Our  friends  are  ahead  of 
us.  Come  along." 

Whistling,  they  swung  up  to  the  brightly  lit  little 
public-house,  set  there  upon  the  edge  of  the  bay. 
Here  and  there  over  the  imrufHed  surface  of  the  waters 
to  the  left  of  them,  a  light  pricked  out,  glowing  against 
the  gloom.  Black  against  the  mouth  of  the  harbour, 
as  though  etched  upon  a  smoky  background,  a 
steamer  swayed  uneasily  with  the  swell  of  the  water 
at  her  keel,  her  nose  touching  the  pier-head,  a  chain  of 
lights  outlining  her  cumbersome  hulk.  Men's  voice's 
made  the  night  noisy,  and  numerous  feet  scuttled  to 
and  fro  over  the  cobbles  of  the  dockyard  to  where  a 
handful  of  fishing  boats  were  drawn  up,  only  their 
masts  showing  above  the  landing,  with  here  and  there 
a  ghostly  wraith  of  sail. 

Cleek  paused  a  moment,  drinking  in  the  scene  with 
his  love  of  beauty,  and  then  assumed  his  role  of  the 


At  "The  Pig  and  Whistle"  173 

evening.  And  how  well  he  could  play  any  role  he 
chose! 

He  cleared  his  throat,  and  addressed  his  compan 
ion  in  broad  cockney. 

"Gawd's  truf,  Sainmie!"  he  said.  "If  this  fair 
don't  look  like  a  bit  of  'ome.  Ain't  spotted  the 
briny  for  a  dog's  age.  Let's  'ave  a  drink." 

Someone  turned  at  his  raucous  voice  and  looked 
back  over  the  curve  of  a  huge  shoulder.  Then  he 
went  to  the  doorway  of  the  little  pub.,  and  raised  a 
hand,  with  two  fingers  extended.  Obviously  it  was 
soi  :e  sort  of  sign,  for  in  an  instant  the  noise  of  voices 
dropped,  and  Cleek  and  Dollops  slouched  in  and  up  to 
the  crowded  bar.  Men  made  room  for  them  on  either 
side,  as  they  pushed  their  way  in,  eyeing  them  at  first 
with  some  suspicion,  then,  as  they  saw  the  familiar 
garments,  calling  out  some  hoarse  jest  or  greeting  in 
their  own  lingo,  to  winch  ("leek  cheerfully  responded. 

A  little  to  the  right  of  them  stood  Borkins,  his  cap 
still  pulled  low  over  his  eyes,  and  a  shabby  overcoat 
buttoned  to  the  neck.  Cleek  glanced  at  him  out  of 
the  tail  of  his  eye,  and  then,  at  sight  of  his  companion, 
his  mouth  tightened.  He'd  give  something  to  mea 
sure  that  cur  muscle  for  muscle,  strength  for  strength! 
The  sort  to  steal  into  a  man's  room  at  night  and  try  to 
murder  him !  The  detective  planted  an  arm — brown 
and  brawny  and  with  a  tattooed  serpent  winding  its 
way  round  the  strong  wrist  to  the  elbow  (oh,  wonderful 
make-up  box!) — on  the  edge  of  the  marble  bar,  and 


174         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

called  loudly  for  a  drink.  His  very  voice  was  raw 
and  husky  with  a  tang  of  the  sea  in  it.  Dollops's  nasal 
twang  took  up  the  story,  while  the  barmaid— a  red 
headed,  fat  woman  with  a  coarse,  hard  face,  who  was 
continually  smiling — looked  them  up  and  down, 
and  having  taken  stock  of  them  set  two  pewter 
tankards  of  frothing  ale  before  them,  took  the  money 
from  Cleek,  bit  it,  and  then  with  a  nod  dropped  it  into 
the  till  and  came  back  for  a  chat. 

"Strangers,  ain't  you?"  she  said,,  pleasantly,  lean 
ing  on  the  bar  and  grinning  at  them. 

"Yus."     Cleek's  voice  was  sharp,  emphatic. 

"Thought  so.     Sea-faring,  I  take  it?" 

"Yus,"  said  Cleek  again,  and  gulped  down  the  rest 
of  his  ale,  pushing  the  tankard  toward  her  and  nod 
ding  at  it  significantly. 

She  sniffed,  and  then  laughed. 

"Want  another,  eh?  Ain't  wastin'  many  words, 
are  yer,  matey?  'Go's  the  little  'un?" 

"Meaning  me?"  said  Dollops,  bridling.  "None  of 
yer  blarney  'ere,  miss !  Me  an'  my  mate's  been  on  a 
walkin'  tooer— come  up  from  Lunnon,  we  'ave." 

"You  never  did!" 

Admiration  mingled  with  disbelief  in  the  barmaid's 
voice.  A  little  stir  of  interest  went  round  the 
crowded,  smoky  room  and  someone  called  out: 

"Lunnon,  'ave  yer?  Bin  walkin'  a  bit,  matey. 
Wot  brought  yer  claim  'ere?  An'  what're  sailor 
men  doin'  in  Lunnon,  any'ow?" 


At  "The  Pig  and  Whistle"  175 

"Wot  most  folks  is  doin'  nowadays— lookin  for  a 
job!"  replied  Cleek,  as  he  gulped  down  the  second 
tankard  and  pushed  it  forward  again  to  be  replen 
ished.  "Come  from  Southampton,  we  'ave.  Got  a 
parss  up  to  Lunnon,  'cause  a  pal  told  us  there'd  be 
work  at  the  factories.  But  there  weren't  no  work. 
Gawd's  truf !  What're  sailor-men  wantin'  wi'  clortii- 
makin'  and  'ammering  '  tin-pots?  Them's  the  only 
jobs  we  wuz  offered  in  Lunnon.  I  don't  give  a  curse 
for  the  plyce.  .  .  .  No,  Sammy  an'  me  we  says 
to  each  other" — he  took  another  drink  and  wiped  his 
mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand—  "  we  says  this  ain't 
no  plyce  for  us.  We'd  just  come  over  fruni  Jamaica — 

"Go  on!  Travellin'  in  furrin  parts  was  you!"  this 
in  admiration  from  the  barmaid. 

— and  we  ain't  seein'  oursel's  turning  inter  land 
lubbers  in  no  sich  spot  as  that.  Pal  told  us  there  was 
a  'arbour  down  'ere  abahts,  wiv  a  factory  wot  a 
sailor-man  might  git  work  at  an'  still  'old  'is  self- 
respec'.  So  we  walked  'ere." 

"Wot  energy!" 

Black  Whiskers — as  Dollops  had  called  him — broke 
in  at  this  juncture,  his  thin  mouth  opening  in  a  grin 
that  showed  two  rows  of  blackened  teeth. 

Cleek  twitched  round  sharply  in  his  direction. 

"Yus — wasn't  it?  An',  funny  enough,  we've 
plenty  more  energy  ter  come!  .  .  .  But  what 
the  'ell  is  this  factory  work  'ere,  any'ow?  An'  any 
chawnce  of  a  couple  of  men  gittin'  a  bit  er  work  to 


17G         Tfie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

keep  the  blinkin'  wolf  from  the  door?     Who'll  tell 
us?" 

A  slight  silence  followed  this,  a  silence  in  which  man 
looked  at  man,  and  then  back  again  at  the  ginger- 
headed  lady  behind  the  bar.  She  raised  her  eye 
brows  and  nodded,  and  then  went  off  into  little  gig 
gles  that  shook  her  plump  figure. 

A  big  man  at  deck's  left  gave  him  the  answer. 

"Factory  makes  electric  fittin's  an'  such-like,  an' 
ships  'em  abroad,"  he  said,  tersely.  "Happen  you 
don't  unnerstan'  the  business?  Happen  the  niar- 
ster  won't  want  you.  Happen  you'll  'ave  ter  move 
on,  I'm  a-thinkin'." 

"Happen  I  won't!"  retorted  ("leek,  with  a  loud 
guffaw. 

"S'welp  me,  you  chaps,  ain't  none  uv  you  a-goin' 
ter  lend  a  'and  to  a  mate  wot's  out  uv  a  job?  What's 
the  blooming  mystery?  An'  where's  the  bloomin' 
boss?" 

"Better  see  'im  in  the  mawning,"  supplemented 
Black  Whiskers,  truculently.  "He's  busy  now. 
Works  all  night  sometimes,  'e  does.  But  there's  u 
vacancy  or  two,  I  know,  for  factory  'ands.  Bin  a  bit 
of  riotin'  an'  splittin'  uv  state  secrets.  But  the  fellers 
wot  did  it  are  gorn  now  " — he  laughed  a  trifle  grimly— 
"won't  never  come  troublin'  'ere  again.  Pretty 
strict,  marster  is.  But  good  work  and  good  pay." 

"And  yer  carnt  arsk  fer  more,  that's  wot  I  ses!" 
threw  in  Dollops  in  his  shrill  voice. 


At  "The  Pig  and  Whistle"  177 

Now  Oleek,  all  this  time,  had  been  edging  more 
and  more  in  the  direction  of  Borkins  and  his  sinister 
companion  who  were  standing  a  little  apart,  but 
nevertheless  were  interested  spectators  of  all  that 
went  on. 

Having  at  last  obtained  his  object,  he  cast  about 
for  a  subject  of  conversation  and  picked  the  barmaid 
whose  rallies  met  with  the  approval  of  the  entire 
company,  and  who  was  at  that  moment  carrying  on 
a  spirited  give-and-take  conversation  with  the  re 
doubtable  Dollops. 

''.Bit  of  a  sport,  ain't  she,  guv'nor?"  Cleek  re 
marked  to  Borkins,  with  a  jerk  of  his  head  in  the 
woman's  direction.  The  butler  whirled  round  and 
fixed  him  with  a  stare  of  haughty  indignation. 

"Here,  you  keep  your  fingers  off  your  betters!"  he 
retorted  angrily,  for  Cleek  had  dug  a  friendly  elbow 
into  his  ribs. 

"Oh,  orl  right!  Xo  offence  meant!  Thought  per 
haps  you  wuz  the  boss,  by  the  look  of  yer.  But 
doubtless  you  ain't  nuffink  ter  do  wiv  the  factory  at 
all.  Private  gent,  I  take  it." 

"Then  you  take  it  wrong!"  retorted  Borkins, 
sharply.  "And  I  have  something  ter  do  with  the 
factory,  if  you  wants  ter  know.  Like  ter  show  your 
good  manners,  I  might  be  able  to  get  you  a  job — 
an'  one  for  the  little  'un  as  well,  though  I  don't  care 
for  Londoners  as  a  rule.  There's  another  of  'em  up 
at  the  place  wThere  I  lives.  I'm  'ead  butler  to  Sir 


178         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Nigel  Merriton  of  Merriton  Towers,  if  you're  anxious 
to  know  who  I  am."  His  chest  swelled  visibly. 
"In  private  I  dabbles  a  little  in — other  things.  And 
I've  influence.  You  men  can  keep  your  mouths 
shut?" 

"Dumb  as  a  blinkin'  dorg!"  threw  in  Dollops,  who 
was  close  by  Cleek's  side,  and  both  men  nodded 
vigorously. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  see  what  I  can  do.  Mind  you,  I 
don't  promise  nothink.  I'll  think  it  hover.  Better 
come  to  me  to-morrow.  Make  it  in  the  evening 
for  there's  a  h'inquest  up  at  the  Towers.  My 
master's  been  copped  for  murderin'  his  friend,  and 
I'll  'ave  to  be  about,  then.  Ow'll  to-morrow  evening 
suit?" 

Cleek  drewT  a  long  breath  and  put  out  his  hand. 
Then,  as  if  recalling  the  superior  station  of  the  man 
he  addressed,  withdrew  it  again  and  remarked: 
"You're  a  real  gent,  you  are!  Any  one'd  know  you 
was  wot  they  calls  well-connected.  Ter-morrow  it  is, 
then.  We'll  be  'ere  and  grateful  for  yer  'elp. 
Wot's  this  abaht  a  murder?  Fight  was  it?  I'm 
'appy  at  that  sort  of  thing  myself." 

He  squared  up  a  moment  and  made  a  mock  of  box 
ing  Dollops  which  seemed  to  please  the  audience. 

"That's  the  stuff,  that's  the  stuff,  matey!"  called 
out  a  raw-boned  man  who  up  to  the  present  had  re 
mained  silent.  "You're  the  man  for  us,  I  ses!  An' 
the  little  'un,  too." 


At  "The  Pig  and  Whistle"  179 

"Reckon  I  can  give  you  a  taste  of  fightin'  that'll 
please  you,"  remarked  Borkins  in  a  low  voice.  "Yes, 

Mainer's  right.  You're  the  man  for  us 

Good-night,  all.  Time's  up.  I'm  oil'." 

"Good-night,"  chorused  a  score  of  voices,  while 
the  fat  barmaid  blew  a  kiss  off  the  tips  of  her  stubby 
fingers,  and  called  out  after  him:  "Come  again  soon, 
dearie." 

Cleek  looked  at  Dollops,  and  both  reali/ed  the  im 
portance  of  getting  back  to  the  Towers  before  the 
arrival  of  Borkins,  in  case  that  worthy  should  think 
(as  was  far  from  unlikely)  of  spying  on  their  move 
ments,  and  checking  up  on  Cleek's  progress  in 
letter  writing.  It  was  going  to  require  some  quick 
work. 

"Well,  Sammy,  better  be  movin'  back  to  our 
shelterin'  roof  an'  all  the  comforts  of  'ome,"  began 
Cleek  almost  at  once,  and  gulping  down  the  last  of 
lus  fourth  tankard  and  slouching  over  to  the  doorway. 
A  chorus  of  voices  stopped  him. 

"Where  you  sleepin'?" 

"Under  the  'ay stack  about  'arf  a  mile  from  'ere," 
replied  Cleek  glibly  and  at  a  venture. 

The  barmaid's  brows  knitted  into  a  frown. 

'"Aystack?"  she  repeated.  "There  ain't  no 
'ay  stack  along  this  road  from  'ere  to  Fetch  worth. 
Bit  orf  the  track,  ain't  yer?" 

Cleek  retrieved  himself  at  once. 

"Ain't    there?     Well,    wot    if    there    ain't?     The 


180         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

place  wot  I  calls  a  'aystack — an'  wot  Lmmoners  calls 
a  'aystack  too— is  the  nearest  bit  of  shelter  wot  comes 
your  way.  Manner  of  speakin',  that's  all." 

"Oh!  Then  I  reckon  you  means  the  bam  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  up  the  road  toward  the  village?" 
The  barmaid  smiled  again. 

"That's  it.     Goodnight." 

"Good  night,"  chorused  the  hoarse  voices. 

The  night  outside  was  as  black  as  a  pocket. 

"Better  cut  along  by  the  fields,  Dollops,"  whis 
pered  Cleek  as  they  took  to  their  heels  up  the  rough 
road.  "Got  to  pass  him.  This  mist  will  help  us. 
That  was  a  near  shave  about  the  haystack.  I  nearly 
tripped  us  up  there.  Awful  creature,  that  woman!" 

"Looks  like  a  jelly-fish  come  loose,"  threw  in 
Dollops  with  a  snort.  ''There's  ole  Borkins,  sir, 
straight  ahead.  'Ere— in  through  this  gap  in  this 
edge  and  then  across  the  field  by  the  side  of  'im.  .  .  . 
Weren't  such  a  rough  night  after  all,  was  it,  sir?" 

Cleek  sighed.     One  might  almost  have  thought 
that  he  regretted  the  fact. 

"No,  Dollops,"  he  said,  softly,  "it  was  the  calmest 
night  of  its  kind  I've  ever  experienced.  But  we've 
gleaned  something  from  it.  But  what  the  devil  has 
Borkins  got  to  do  with  this  factory?  What  ever  it  is 
he's  in  it  right  up  to  the  neck,  and  we'll  have  to  dig 
around  him  pretty  carefully.  You'll  help  me, 
Dollops,  won't  you?  Can't  do  without  you,  you 
know." 


At  "The  Pig  and  Whistle"  181 

"Orlways,  sir — orlways,"  breathed  Dollops,  in  a 
husky  whisper.  "Where  you  goes,  I'm  a-hikin' 
along  by  yer  side.  You  ain't  ever  going  ter  get  rid  of 
me." 

"Good  lad!"  and  they  redoubled  their  pace. 


CHAPTER  XX 

AT   THE   INQUEST 

THURSDAY  dawned  in  a  blaze  of  sunshine, 
and  after  the  bleak  promise  of  the  day  before 
the  sky  was  a  clear,  sapphire-blue. 
"  What  a  day !   And  what  a  mission  to  waste  it  on ! " 
sighed  Cleek  next  morning,  as  he  finished  breakfast 
and  took  a  turn  to  the  front  door,  smoking  his  ciga 
rette.     "Here's  murder  at  the  very  door  of  this  ill- 
fated  place.     And  we've  got  to  see  the  tiling  out!" 

He  spun  upon  his  heel  and  went  back  again  into  the 
gloomy  hall,  as  though  the  sight  of  the  sunshine 
sickened  him.  His  thoughts  were  with  Merriton, 
shut  away  there  in  the  village  prison  to  await  this  day 
of  reckoning,  with,  if  the  word  should  go  against 
him,  a  still  further  day  of  reckoning  ahead.  A  day 
when  the  cleverest  brains  of  the  law  schools  would  be 
arrayed  against  him,  and  he  would  have  to  go  through 
the  awful  tragedy  of  a  trial  in  open  court.  What  was 
a  mere  coroner's  jury  to  that  possibility. 

Then  too,  perhaps  in  spite  of  evidence,  they  might 
let  the  boy  off.  There  was  a  chance  in  that  matter 
of  the  I.  O.  IL,  which  he  himself  had  found  in  the 
pocket  of  the  dead  man,  and  which  was  signed  in 

182 


At  the  Inquest  183 

the  name  of  Lester  Stark.  Stark  was  due  at 
the  inquest  to-day,  to  give  his  side  of  the  affair. 
There  was  a  possible  loop-hole  of  escape.  Would 
Nigel  be  able  to  get  through  it?  That  was  the 
question. 

The  inquest  was  set  for  two  o'clock.  From  eleven 
onward  the  great  house  began  to  fill  with  expectant 
and  curious  visitors.  Reporters  from  local  papers, 
and  one  or  two  who  represented  the  London  press, 
turned  up,  their  press-cards  as  tickets  of  admittance. 
Petrie  was  stationed  at  the  door  to  waylay  casual 
strangers,  but  any  who  offered  possible  light  upon  the 
matter,  eye-witnesses  or  otherwise,  were  allowed  to 
enter.  It  was  astonishing  how  many  people  there 
were  who  confessed  to  having  "seen  things"  con 
nected  with  the  whole  distressing  affair.  By  one 
o'clock  almost  everyone  was  in  place.  At  a  quarter 
past,  'Toinette  Brellier  arrived,  dressed  in  black  and 
with  a  heavy  veil  shrouding  her  pallor.  She  was 
accompanied  by  her  uncle. 

Cleek  met  them  in  the  hall.  Upon  sight  of  him 
'Toinette  ran  up  and  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"You  are  Mr.  Headland,  are  you  not?"  she 
stated  rather  than  asked,  her  voice  full  of  agitation, 
her  whole  figure  trembling.  "My  name  is  Brellier, 
Antoinette  Brellier.  You  have  heard  of  me  from 
Nigel,  Mr.  Headland.  I  am — engaged  to  be  married 
to  him.  This  is  my  uncle,  with  whom  I  live.  Mr. 
Headland — Mr.  Brellier." 


184         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

She  made  the  introduction  in  a  distrait  manner, 
and  the  two  men  bowed. 

"I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,  sir,"  said  Brellier,  in  his 
stilted  English,  "but  I  could  wish  it  were  under 
happier  circumstances." 

"And  I,"  murmured  Cleek,  taking  in  the  trim 
contour  and  the  keen  eyes  of  this  man  who  was  to 
have  been  Merriton's  father-in-law — if  things  had 
turned  out  differently.  He  found  he  rather  liked  his 
looks. 

"There  is  nothing— one  can  do?"  Brellier's  voice 
was  politely  anxious,  and  he  spread  out  his  hands  in 
true  French  fashion  then  tugged  at  his  closely 
clipped  iron-gray  beard. 

"Anything  that  you  know,  Mr.  Brellier,  that 
would  perhaps  be  of  help,  you  can  say— in  the  wit 
ness  box.  We  are  looking  for  people  who  know  any 
thing  of  the  whole  distressing  tragedy.  You  can 
help  that  way,  and  that  way  alone.  For  myself,"  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  "I  don't  for  an  instant  be 
lieve  Sir  Nigel  to  be  guilty.  I  can't,  somehow.  And 
yet— if  you  knew  the  evidence  against  him—  — !" 

A  sob  came  suddenly  from  'Toinette,  and  Brellier 
gently  led  her  away.  It  was  a  terrible  ordeal  for  her, 
but  she  had  insisted  on  coming— fearing,  hoping  that 
she  might  be  of  use  to  Nigel  in  the  witness  box.  By 
the  time  they  reached  the  great,  crowded  room,  with 
its  table  set  at  the  far  end,  its  empty  chairs,  and  the 
platform  upon  which  the  two  bodies  lay  shrouded  in 


At  the  Inquest  185 

their  black  coverings,  she  was  crying,  though  plainly 
struggling  for  self  possession. 

Brellier  found  her  a  chair  at  the  farther  side  of  the 
room,  and  stood  beside  her,  while  near  by  Cleek  saw 
the  figure  of  Borkins,  clad  in  ordinary  clothes.  He 
tipped  one  respectful  finger  as  Brellier  passed  him, 
and  greeted  him  with  a  half-smile,  as  one  of  whom  he 
thoroughly  approved. 

Then  there  was  a  little  murmur  of  expectancy,  as 
the  group  about  the  doorway  parted  to  admit  the 
prisoner. 

He  came  between  two  policemen,  very  pale,  very 
haggard,  greatly  aged  by  the  few  days  of  his  ordeal. 
There  were  lines  about  his  mouth  and  eyes  that  were 
not  good  to  see.  He  was  thinner,  older.  Already 
the  gray  showed  in  the  hair  about  his  temples.  He 
walked  stiffly,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  left,  his 
head  up,  his  hands  handcuffed  before  him;  calm,  dig 
nified,  a  trifle  grimly  amused  at  the  whole  affair — 
though  what  this  attitude  cost  him  to  keep  up  no  one 
ever  knew. 

'Toinette  uttered  a  cry  at  sight  of  him,  and  then 
shut  her  handkerchief  against  her  mouth.  His  face 
quivered  as  he  recognized  her  voice,  then,  looking 
across  the  crowded  room,  he  saw  her — and 
smiled. 

The  jury  filed  in  one  after  the  other,  twelve  stout, 
hardy  specimens  of  the  country  tradesman,  with  a 
local  doctor  and  a  farmer  or  two  sprinkled  among  the 


186         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

lump  to  leaven  it.  The  coroner  followed,  having 
driven  up  in  the  latest  thing  in  motor  cars  (for  he  was 
going  to  do  the  thing  properly,  as  it  was  at  the 
country's  expense).  Then  the  horrible  proceedings 
began. 

After  the  preliminaries,  which  followed  the  usual 
custom  (for  the  coroner  seemed  singularly  devoid  of 
originality)  the  bodies  were  uncovered,  and  a  murmur 
of  excited  expectancy  ran  through  the  crowd.  With 
morbid  curiosity  they  pressed  forward.  The  re 
porters  started  to  scribble  in  their  note-books,  a 
little  pale  and  perturbed,  for  all  their  experience  oi' 
such  affairs.  One  or  two  of  the  crowd  gasped,  and 
then  shut  their  eyes.  Brellier  exclaimed  aloud  in 
French,  and  for  a  moment  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands;  but  'Toinette  made  no  murmur.  For  she  had 
not  looked,  would  not  look  upon  the  grim  terrors  that 
lay  there.  There  was  no  need  for  that. 

The  coroner  spoke,  attacking  the  matter  in  a  busi 
nesslike  fashion,  and  leaning  down  from  his  slightly 
elevated  position  upon  the  platform,  pointed  a 
finger  at  the  singed  and  blackened  puncture  upon  the 
temple  of  the  thing  that  was  once  Dacre  Wynne.  lie 
pointed  also  to  the  wound  in  the  head  of  Collins. 

"It  is  apparent  to  all  present,"  he  began  in  his 
flat  voice,  "that  death  has  been  caused  in  each  case 
by  a  shot  in  the  head.  That  the  two  men  were  killed 
similarly  is  something  in  the  nature  of  a  coincidence. 
The  revolver  that  killed  them  was  not  the  same  in 


At  the  Inquest  187 

both  cases.  In  that  of  Mr.  Wynne  we  have  a  bullet 
wound  of  an  extremely  small  calibre.  We  have,  in 
deed,  the  actual  bullet.  We  also  have,  so  we  think, 
the  revolver  that  fired  the  shot.  In  the  case  of  James 
Collins  there  has  been  no  proof  and  no  evidence  of 
any  one  whom  we  know  being  concerned.  Therefore 
we  will  take  the  case  of  the  man  Dacre  Wynne  first. 
He  was  killed  by  a  revolver-shot  in  the  temple,  and 
dentil  was — or  should  have  been — instantaneous. 
We  will  call  the  prisoner  to  speak  first." 

He  lifted  a  revolver  from  the  table  and  held  it  in 
the  1  ollow  of  Ills  big  palm. 

"This  revolver  is  yours?"  he  said,  peering  up  under 
his  shaggy  eyebrows  into  Merriton's  face. 

<S  Ti     '        " 

It  IS. 

"Very  good.  There  has  been,  as  you  see,  one  shot 
fired  from  it.  Of  the  six  chambers  one  is  empty." 
lie  reached  down  and  picked  up  a  small  something 
and  held  it  in  the  hollow  of  the  other  hand,  balancing 
one  against  the  other  as  he  talked.  "Sir  Nigel,  I  ask 
you.  This  we  recognize  as  a  bullet  which  belongs  to 
this  same  revolver,  the  revolver  which  you  have 
recognized  and  claimed  as  your  own.  It  is  identical 
with  those  that  are  used  in  the  cartridges  of  your 
revolver,  is  it  not?" 

Merriton  bent  his  head.  His  eyes  had  a  dumb, 
hurt  look,  but  over  the  crowded  room  his  voice 
sounded  firm  and  steady. 

"It  is." 


188         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"Then  I  take  it  that,  as  this  bullet  was  extracted 
from  the  head  of  the  dead  man,  and  as  this  revolver 
which  you  gave  to  the  police  yourself,  and  from  which 
you  say  that  you  fired  a  shot  that  night,  that  you  are 
guilty  of  his  murder.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"I  am  not  guilty." 

"H'm."  For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Over 
the  room  came  the  sound  of  scratching  pencils  and 
pens,  the  shuffle  of  someone's  foot,  a  swift  intake  of 
the  breath — no  more.  Then  the  coroner  spoke 
again. 

"Tell  us,  then,"  he  said,  "your  version  of  what 
took  place  that  night." 

And  Merriton  told  it,  told  it  with  a  ring  in  his 
voice,  his  head  high,  and  with  eyes  that  flashed  and 
shone  with  the  cause  he  was  pleading.  Told  it  with 
fire  and  spirit;  and  even  as  the  words  fell  from  his 
lips,  felt  the  sudden  chill  of  disbelief  that  seemed  to 
grip  the  room  in  its  cold  hand.  Not  a  sound  broke 
the  recital.  He  had  been  given  a  fair  hearing,  at  all 
events,  though  in  that  community  of  hard-headed, 
unimaginative  men  there  was  not  one  that  believed 
him — save  those  few  who  already  knew  the  story  to 
be  true. 

The  coroner  stopped  fitting  his  fingers  together  as 
the  firm  voice  faltered  and  was  finally  silent,  and  shot 
a  glance  at  Merriton  from  under  his  shaggy  brows. 

"And  you  expect  us  to  believe  that  story,  Sir 
Nigel;  knowing  what  we  do  about  the  bad  blood 


At  the  Inquest  189 

between  you  and  the  dead  man,  and  having  here  the 
evidence  of  our  own  eyes  in  this  revolver  bullet?" 

"I  have  told  the  truth.     I  can  do  no  more." 

"No  man  can,"  responded  the  coroner,  gravely, 
"but  it  is  that  which  I  must  admit  I  query.  The 
story  is  so  far-fetched,  so  utterly  impossible  for  a 
rationally  minded  being — 

''But  you  must  admit  that  he  was  not  a  rationally 
minded  being  that  night!"  broke  in  a  quick  voice 
from  across  the  room,  and  everyone  turned  to  look 
into  Doctor  Bartholomew's  seamed,  anxious  face. 
4 'Under  the  influence  of  drink  and  that  devil  incar 
nate,  Dacre  Wynne,  a  man  couldn't  be  answerable 
for- 

"Silence  in  the  Court!"  rapped  out  the  coroner, 
and  the  good  doctor  was  forced  to  obey. 

Then  the  inquiry  went  on.  The  prisoner  was  told 
lo  stand  down,  amid  a  chorus  of  protesting  voices, 
for,  though  the  story  was  disbelieved,  everyone  who 
had  come  in  contact  with  Merriton  had  formed  an 
instant  liking  for  him.  No  one  wished  to  see  him 
condemned  as  guilty — save  those  few  who  seemed 
determined  to  send  him  to  the  gallows. 

Three  or  four  possible  witnesses  were  called,  but 
nothing  of  any  importance  was  gleaned  from  them:, 
then  Borkins  was  summoned  to  the  table.  As  he 
pushed  past  'Toinette's  chair  from  the  knot  of 
villagers  which  surrounded  him,  his  face  was  white, 
and  his  lips  compressed.  He  took  his  stand  in  front 


190         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

of  the  jury  and  prepared  to  answer  the  questions 
which  were  put  to  him  by  the  coroner.  That  man's 
method  seemed  to  have  changed  since  his  questioning 
of  Sir  Nigel  and  he  flung  out  his  queries  like  a  rapid- 
fire  gun. 

Borkins  came  through  the  ordeal  fairly  well,  all 
things  considered.  He  told  his  story  of  what  he  had 
said  he  had  seen  that  night,  in  a  comparatively  steady 
voice,  though  he  was  of  the  type  that  is  addicted 
to  nervousness  when  appearing  before  people. 

Cleek,  at  the  back  of  the  court,  with  Mr.  Narkom 
on  his  right  and  Dollops  on  his  left,  waited  for  that 
one  weak  spot  in  the  evidence,  and  saw  with  a  smile 
how  the  coroner  lit  upon  it.  His  opinion  of  that 
worthy  went  up  considerably. 

"You  say  you  heard  the  man  Wynne  groaning  and 
moaning  on  the  garden  pathway  after  he  was  shot, 
and  then  practically  saw  him  die?" 

"I  did,  sir." 

"And  yet,  a  man  killed  in  that  fashion,  hit  in  that 
particular  portion  of  the  temple,  always  dies  in 
stantaneously.  Isn't  that  rather  strange?" 

Borkins  went  red. 

"I  have  nothing  to  say,  sir.  Simply  what  I 
heard." 

"H'm.  Well,  certainly  the  evidence  does  dovetail 
in,  and  the  doctors  may  have  been  wrong  in  this  in 
stance.  We  can  look  into  that  evidence  later. 
Stand  down." 


At  the  Inquest  191 

Borkins  stood  down  with  something  like  a  sigh  of 
relief,  and  pushed  his  way  back  into  his  place,  his 
friends  nodding  to  him  and  congratulating  him  upon 
the  way  he  had  given  his  evidence. 

Then  Tony  West  was  called,  and  told  all  that  he 
had  to  tell  of  his  knowledge  of  the  night's  happenings 
in  a  rather  irritated  manner,  as  though  the  whole 
ihing  bored  him  utterly,  and  he  couldn't  for  the  life 
of  him  make  out  why  any  one  even  dreamed  that  old 
Nigel  had  murdered  a  man.  He  told  the  coroner 
something  of  this  before  he  finished,  and  as  he  re 
turned  to  his  place  a  murmur  of  approval  went  up, 
His  manner  had  taken  the  public  fancy,  and  they 
would  have  liked  to  hear  more  of  him. 

But  there  was  another  piece  of  evidence  to  be 
shown,  and  this  took  the  form  of  a  scrap  of  creased 
white  paper. 

It  was  waved  aloft  in  the  coroner's  hand,  so  that 
everyone  could  see  it. 

"This,"  said  the  coroner,  "is  an  I.  O.  U.  found 
upon  the  dead  man,  for  two  thousand  pounds,  and 
signed  with  the  name  of  Lester  Stark.  An  im 
portant  piece  of  evidence,  this.  Will  Mr.  Stark 
kindly  come  forward?'"' 

There  was  a  rustle  at  the  back  of  the  court,  and 
Stark  pushed  his  way  to  the  front,  his  face  rather  red, 
his  eyes  a  trifle  shame-faced.  As  he  came,  Merritoa 
was  conscious  of  a  quickening  of  his  pulse,  of  a  leap  of 
his  heart,  though  he  loathed  himself  afterward  for 


192         TJie  Riddle  of  tlic  Frozen  Flame 

the  sensation.  His  eyes  went  toward  'Toinette,  and 
he  saw  that  she  was  looking  at  him,  with  all  the  love 
that  was  in  her  soul  laid  bare  for  him — and  all — to 
see.  It  cheered  him,  as  she  meant  it  should. 

Then  Stark  took  his  place  upon  the  witness  stand. 

"This  I.  O.  U.  belongs  to  you,  I  take  it?"  said  the 
coroner,  briskly. 

"It  does,  sir." 

"'And  it  was  made  out  two  days  before  the  prisoner 
met  his  death.  The  signature  is  yours?" 

Stark  bowed.  His  eyes  sought  Nigel's  and  rested 
upon  the  pale,  lined  face  with  every  appearance  of 
concern.  Then  he  looked  back  at  the  coroner. 

"Dacre  Wynne  lent  me  that  money  two  days  be 
fore  he  came  down  to  visit  Merritou.  No  one  knew 
of  it,  except  he  and  I.  We  had  never  been  good 
friends — in  fact,  I  believe  he  hated  me.  My  mother 
had  been— well,  kind  to  him  in  the  old  days,  and  I 
suppose  he  hadn't  forgotten  it.  Anyhow,  there  was 
family  difficulty.  My — my  pater  left  some  con 
siderable  debts  which  we  found  we  were  obliged  to 
face.  There  was  a  woman — oh,  I  needn't  go  into 
these  family  things,  in  a  place  like  this,  need  I?  ... 
Well,  if  I  must — I  must.  But  it's  a  loathsome  job 
•at  best.  .  .  .  There  was  a  woman  whom  iny 
father — kept.  When  he  died  he  left  her  two  thou 
sand  pounds  in  his  will,  and  he  hadn't  two  thousand 
pounds  to  leave  when  his  debts  were  cleared  up. 
We — we  had  to  face  things.  Paid  everything  off, 


At  the  Inquest  193- 

and  all  that,  and  then,  at  the  last  gasp,  that  woman- 
came  and  claimed  the  money.  The  lawyer  said  she 
was  within  her  rights,  we'd  have  to  fork  out.  And 
I  couldn't  lay  my  hands  upon  the  amount  just  then, 
because  it  had  taken  pretty  nearly  all  we  had  to  clear 
the  debts  off." 

"So  you  borrowed  from  Mr.  Wynne?" 

"Yes,  I  borrowed  from  Dacre  Wynne.  I'd  sooner 
have  cut  my  right  hand  off  than  have  done  it,  but  I 
knew  Merriton  was  going  to  be  married,  and  I 
wouldn't  saddle  him  with  my  bills.  Don't  look  at 
me  like  that.  Nigel,  old  chap,  you  know  I  couldn't! 
Tony  West  has  only  enough  for  himself,  and  I  didn't 
want  to  go  to  loan  sharks.  So  the  mater  suggested 
Dacre  Wynne.  I  went  to  him,  in  her  name,  and  ate 
the  du.-t.  it  was  beastly — but  he  promised  to  stump 
up.  And  he  did.  I'm  working  now  on  a  paper,  to  try 
and  pay  as  much  off  as  I  can,  and — a  cousin  is  keep 
ing  the  mater  until  I  can  look  after  her  myself.  We've 
taken  a  little  place  out  Chelsea  way.  That's  all." 

"H'm.  And  you  can  show  proof  of  this,  if  the 
jury  requires  it?"  put  in  the  coroner,  at  this  junc 
ture. 

"I  can — here  and  now."  He  thrust  his  hand  into 
his  pocket  and  drew  out  a  sheaf  of  papers,  tossing 
them  in  front  of  the  coroner,  who,  after  a  glance  at 
their  contents,  seemed  to  be  satisfied  that  they  gave 
tlie  answer  he  sought. 

"Thank    you.     .     .     .     And    you    have    no    re- 


194         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

volver,  Mr.  Stark,  even  if  you  had  reason  for  killing 
Mr.  Wynne?" 

Stark  gave  a  little  start  of  surprise. 

"Reason  for  killing  him?  You're  not  trying  to 
intimate  that  /  killed  him,  are  you?  Of  all  the 
idiotic  things !  No,  I  have  no  revolver,  Mr.  Coroner. 
And  I've  nothing  more  to  say." 

"Then  stand  down,"  said  the  coroner,  and  Lester 
Stark  threaded  his  way  back  to  the  chair  he  had 
occupied  during  the  proceedings,  rather  red  in  the 
face,  and  with  blazing  eyes  and  tightly  set  lips. 

A  stream  of  other  witnesses  came  and  gave  their 
stories.  Brellier  told  of  how  he  had  been  rung  up 
by  Merriton  to  ask  if  there  were  any  news  of  Wynne's 
arrival  at  the  house.  Told,  in  fact,  all  that  he  ad 
mitted  to  know  of  the  night's  affair,  and  ended  up 
his  evidence  with  the  remark  that  "nothing  on  earth 
or  in  heaven  would  make  him  believe  that  Sir  Nigel 
Merriton  was  guilty  of  murder." 

Things  were  narrowing  down.  There  was  a  rest 
lessness  about  the  court;  time  was  gettimg  on  and 
everything  pointed  one  way.  After  some  discussion 
with  the  jury,  the  foreman  of  it,  a  stout,  pretentous 
fellow,  rose  to  his  feet  and  whispered  a  few  hurried 
words  to  the  coroner.  That  gentleman  wiped  his 
forehead  with  a  silk  handkerchief  and  looked  about 
him.  It  had  been  a  trying  business  altogether.  He'd 
be  glad  of  his  supper.  He  got  to  his  feet  and  turned 
to  the  crowded  room. 


At  the  Inquest  195 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "in  all  this  evidence  that 
has  been  placed  before  us  I  find  not  one  loop-hole  of 
escape  for  the  prisoner,  not  one  opening  by  which 
there  might  be  a  chance  of  passing  any  other  verdict 
than  that  which  I  am  compelled  to  pass  now;  save 
only  in  the  evidence  of  Borkins,  who  tells  that  the  dead 
man  groaned  and  moaned  for  a  minute  or  two  after 
being  shot.  This,  I  must  say,  leaves  me  in  some 
doubt  as  to  the  absolute  accuracy  of  his  story,  but 
the  main  facts  tally  with  what  evidence  we  have 
and  point  in  one  direction.  There  is  only  one  re- 
voher  in  question,  and  that  revolver  of  a  peculiar 
make  and  bore.  I  have  shown  you  the  instrument 
here,  also  the  bullet  which  was  extracted  from  the 
dead  man's  brain.  Is  there  no  other  person  who 
would  wish  to  give  evidence,  before  I  am  compelled 
to  pronounce  the  prisoner  'Guilty'  — and  cave  him 
to  the  hands  of  higher  Courts  of  Justice?  If  there 
is,  I  beg  of  you  to  speak,  and  speak  at  once.  Time 
is  short,  gentlemen." 

His  voice  ceased,  and  for  a  moment  over  the  room 
there  was  silence.  You  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop. 
Then  came  the  scraping  of  a  chair,  a  swiftly-muttered, 
"I  will!  I  will!  I  have  something  to  say!"  in  a 
woman's  voice  shrill  with  emotion,  and  'Toinette 
Brellier  stood  up,  slim  and  tall  in  her  black  frock, 
and  with  the  veil  thrown  back  from  her  pale  face. 
She  held  something  in  her  hand,  something  which 
she  waved  aloft  for  all  to  see. 


190         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"I  ...  I  have  something  to  say,  Mr.  Cor 
oner,"  she  said  in  a  clear,  high  voice.  "Something 
to  show  you,  also.  See!"  She  pushed  her  way 
through  the  crowd  that  opened  to  admit  her,  gaping 
at  her  as  she  came  rapidly  to  the  coroner's  table 
and  held  out  the  object.  It  was  a  small-sized  re 
volver,  identical  in  every  detail  to  that  which  lay 
upon  the  coroner's  table.  "That,"  she  said  clearly, 
her  voice  rising  higher  and  higher,  as  she  looked  into 
Merriton's  face  for  a  single  instant  and  smiled  wanly, 
"that,  Mr.  Coroner,  is  a  revolver  identical  with  the 
one  which  you  have  there.  It  is  the  same  make,  the 
same  bore — everything!  " 

"So  it  is!"  For  a  moment  the  coroner  lost  his 
calm.  He  lifted  an  excited  face  to  meet  her  eyes, 
"Where  did  you  get  it,  Miss  Brellier?" 

"From  the  top  drawer  of  the  secretaire  in  the  little 
boudoir  at  Withersby  Hall,"  she  said  calmly,  "where 
it  has  always  lain.  You  will  find  a  snot  missing. 
Everything  the  same,  Mr.  Coroner;  everything  the 
same!" 

"It  belongs  to  some  member  of  your  household, 
Miss  Brellier?" 

She  took  a  step  backward  and  drew  a  sharp 
breath.  Then  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Merriton's 
face. 

"It  belongs  to — me,*'  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

QUESTIONS — AND   ANSWERS 

MURMUR  of  amazement  went  round  the 
room,  like  the  sound  of  rising  wind.  The 
coroner  held  up  his  hand  for  silence. 

"You  say  it  is  yours.  Miss  Brellier?  This— this 
is  renlly  most  remarkable — most  remarkable!  The 
revolver  is  of  French  make,  is  it  not?  You  bought  it 
abroad?" 

"I  did.  Just  before  I  first  came  to  England.  I 
had  been  travelling  through  Tunis  before  that,  and — 
well,  one  doesn't  like  to  be  without  these  things. 
Sir  Nigel's  revolver  came  from  India,  I  believe- 
through  the  agents  of  a  French  firm,  the  makers." 

''But—  The  coroner's  voice  was  low-pitched, 

incredulous,  "are  you  trying  to  tell  us  you  fired  a 
shot  that  night,  Miss  Brellier?" 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling. 

"No — that  would  be  impossible.  But  my  re 
volver  has  always  lain  in  that  little  secretaire,  and 
I  have  never  had  cause  to  use  it  since  I  have  been 
on  this  side  of  the  Channel.  I  was  in  bed  early  that 
night,  with  a  headache.  My  uncle  will  tell  you 
that.  He  took  me  to  my  room  and  spent  the  rest 

197 


198         TJie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

of  the  evening  in  his  study,  as  you  have  already 
heard  from  him.  No,  I  cannot  say  I  murdered 
Dacre  Wynne.  Though  I  would  say  that  or  any 
thing  to  save  Nigel.  But  I  didn't  discover  that 
this  little  revolver  of  mine  had  ever  been  fired  until 
yesterday,  when  I  happened  to  go  to  my  secretaire 
for  a  letter  which  I  had  locked  away  in  that  par 
ticular  drawer.  Then  I  took  it  up  and  chanced  to 
examine  it— I  don't  know  why.  Perhaps  because 
it  was  the  same  as  Nigel's,  I—  "  she  choked  sud 
denly,  and  bit  at  her  lips  for  control.  ''Is  there  not 
a  loophole  here,  sir,  by  which  Sir  Nigel  might  be 
saved?  Surely  it  must  be  traced  wuo  used  this  re 
volver,  who  fired  the  shot  from  it?" 

Her  voice  had  risen  to  a  piteous  note  that  brought 
the  tears  to  many  eyes  in  that  crowTded  room.  The 
coroner  coughed.  Then  he  glanced  enquiringly  over 
at  Brellier,  who  had  risen  from  his  seat. 

"You  have  something  to  say  about  this,  Mr. 
Brellier?" 

Brellier  made  a  clicking  sound  with  his  tongue. 

"I'm  afraid  my  niece  has  been  wasting  your  time, 
sir,"  he  said  quietly,  "because  I  happen  to  have 
used  that  little  instrument  myself  five  months  ago. 
We  had  a  dog  who  was  hurt— you  remember  Franco. 
'Toinette?  And  if  you  carry  your  mind  back  you 
will  also  recollect  that,  he  had  eventually  to  be  shot, 
and  that  I  was  forced  to  perform  that  unpleasant 
operation  myself.  He  was  dear  to  me,  that  dog;  he 


Questions— and  Answers  199 

was— how  do  you  call  it? — a  true  'pal'.  It  hurt  me 
to  do  this  thing,  but  I  did  it.  And  with  that  revolver 
also.  It  was  light.  'Toinette  must  have  forgotten 
that  I  mentioned  the  matter  to  her. 

"I  am  afraid  this  can  have  no  bearing  upon  the 
case — though  the  dear  God  knows  that  I  would  do 
all  I  could  to  bring  this  terrible  thing  to  an  end,  if  it 
lay  in  my  power.  That's  is  all,  I  think." 

He  bowed,  and  sat  down  again,  beckoning  his 
niece  back  to  her  seat  with  a  little  frown.  She  cast 
a  piteous  look  up  into  the  coroner's  face. 

"i''m  sorry."  she  said  brokenly;  "I  had  forgotten 
about  that.  Of  course,  it  is  true,  as  my  uncle  said. 
But  I  was  so  anxious — so  anxious !  And  there  seemed 
just  a  chance.  You  understand?" 

"I  do,  Miss  Brellier.  And  I  am  sorry  that  the  evi 
dence  in  this  case  is  of  no  use  to  us.  Constable,  take 
the  prisoner  away  to  await  higher  justice.  I  must 
suy  that  I  think  no  other  verdict  upon  the  evidence 
brought  forward  could  possibly  be  passed  upon  the 
prisoner  than  I  have  passed  to-day.  I'm  sorry, 
Sir  Nigel,  but — one  must  do  one's  duty,  you  know 
.  .  .  .  We'll  be  getting  back  to  the  office,  Mr. 
Murkford."  He  beckoned  to  his  clerk,  who  rose  in 
stantly  and  followed  him.  "Good  afternoon,  gentle 
men." 

.  .  .  .  And  so  the  whole  wearisome  proceedings 
were  at  an  end — and  Cleek  had  spoken  no  word  of 
that  would-be  assassin  who  had  come  upon  him  in 


200         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

the  dark  watches  of  the  night  and  sought  his  life.  lie 
noted  that  Borkins  looked  at  him  in  some  surprise, 
but  held  his  counsel.  Borkins  knew  more  than  he 
had  said  upon  his  oath  this  day;  of  that  Cleek  was 
certain.  Well,  he  would  bide  his  time.  There  were 
other  ways  to  work  besides  the  open-handed  fashion 
of  the  coroner's  court  and  the  policeman's  uniform. 
He  was  due  to  meet  Borkins  that  night  and  discuss  the 
possibilities  of  being  taken  on  to  work  at  the  electrical 
factory.  Something  might  come  out  of  that — some 
thing  must  come  of  that.  It  was  impossible  that 
the  thing  should  be  left  as  it  was,  and  an  innocent 
boy — he  was  certain  of  Merriton's  innocence,  in 
spite  of  the  evidence  against  him — should  be  hanged. 

As  he  stepped  out  into  the  growing  twilight  ("leek 
touched  Mr.  Narkom  on  the  arm  and  then  ran  over 
to  the  van  into  which  the  prisoner  was  stepping,  his 
guardians  of  the  law  upon  either  side  of  him,  his  IV. ce 
white,  his  shoulders  bowed.  'Toinette  stood  a  few 
steps  distant,  the  tears  chasing  themselves  down  her 
face  and  the  sobs  drowning  her  broken  words  of  com 
fort  to  him.  He  seemed  barely  to  notice  her,  but 
at  sight  of  Cleek  he  flung  himself  round,  and  gave  a 
harsh  laugh. 

"And  a  damn  lot  of  good  you've  done  me,  for  all 
your  fine  reputation!"  he  said  snceringly,  his  face 
reddening.  "God!  that  there  should  be  such  fools 
allowed  to  hold  the  law  in  their  hands!  You've 
made  a  mistake  this  time,  Mr.  Cl " 


Questions — and  Ansivers  201 

"One  moment!"  Cleek  held  up  a  silencing  hand 
as  the  name  almost  escaped  Merriton's  lips.  "Officer, 
I'm  from  Scotland  Yard.  I'd  like  a  word  with  the 
prisoner  alone,  if  you  don't  mind,  before  you  take 
him  away.  I'll  answer  for  his  safety,  I  promise  .  .  . 
Keep  your  heart  up,  boy;  I've  not  done  yet!"  This 
in  a  low-pitched  voice,  as  the  two  men  dropped  away 
from  either  side.  "I've  not  done  by  a  long  shot. 
But  evidence  has  been  so  confoundly  against  you. 
I'd  hopes  of  that  I.O.U.,  but  the  whole  thing  was  so 
simply  explained — and  there  were  the  proofs,  you 
know.  Still,  there  was  no  telling  how  the  story 
would  come  out.  But  it  was  so  obviously  true.  .  .  . 
Only,  keep  up  your  heart,  lad;  that's  what  I  wanted 
to  I  ell  you.  I'd  swear  on  my  oath  you  weren't  guilty. 
And  I'll  prove  it  yet!" 

Something  like  a  sob  broke  in  Merriton's  voice. 
He  held  out  an  impetuous  hand. 

"Fin  sorry,  sir,"  he  said  jerkily,  "but  it's  a  devilish 
ordeal.  'What  a  life  I've  led  this  past  week!  If 
you  only  knew — could  only  realize!  It  tears  a 
man's  nerves  to  atoms.  I've  almost  given  up 
hope- 

Cleek  took  the  hand  and  held  it. 

''Never  do  that,  Merriton,  never  do  that,"  he  said 
softly.  "I've  been  through  the  mill  myself  once — 
years  ago  now,  but  the  scar  still  stays — and  it'll  be  a 
bit  more  red  hell  for  the  present.  But  if  there's  any 
saving  you,  any  proving  this  thing  right  up  to  the 


202         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

hilt,  I'll  do  it.  That's  all  I  wanted  to  say.  Good 
bye,  and — buck  up.  I'm  going  to  speak  to  the  little 
girl  now,  and  cheer  her  up,  too.  You'll  hear  every 
thing  as  it  comes  along." 

He  squeezed  the  hand,  manacled  so  grimly  to  the 
other,  and  smiled  a  smile  brimming  over  with  hope 
and  promise. 

"God  bless  you,  Mr. — Headland,"  Merriton  re 
plied,  and  as  Cleek  beckoned  to  the  two  policemen, 
took  his  stand  between  them  and  entered  the  closed 
vehicle.  The  door  shut,  the  engine  purred,  and 
the  car  shot  away  up  the  road  toward  the  local 
police-station,  leaving  the  man  and  the  girl  staring 
after  it,  the  same  mute  sorrow  and  sympathy  shining 
in  both  pairs  of  eyes. 

As  it  disappeared  round  a  corner,  'Toinette  turned 
to  Cleek,  her  whole  agonized  heart  in  her  eyes. 

"Mr.  Headland!"  she  broke  out  with  a  gush  of 
tears.  "Oh,  ni'sieur,  if  you  did  but  know — could 
but  understand  all  that  my  poor  heart  suffers  for  that 
innocent  boy!  It  is  breaking  every  minute,  every 
hour.  Is  there  nothing,  nothing  that  can  be  done 
to  save  him?  I'd  stake  my  very  life  on  his  inno 
cence!" 

Cleek  let  his  hand  rest  for  a  moment  upon  1he 
fragile  shoulder,  and  looked  down  into  the  pallid  face. 

"I  know  you  would,"  he  said  softly,  "for  even  I 
know  and  understand  what  the  love  of  a  good  woman 
may  do  to  a  man.  But,  tell  me.  That  story  of  the 


Questions — and  Answers  203 

revolver — your  revolver.  You  can  vouch  for  it? 
Your  uncle  did  kill  the  dog  Franco  with  it?  You 
can  remember?  Forgive  me  for  asking,  or  question 
ing  for  a  moment  the  evidence  which  Mr.  Brellier 
has  given,  but  I  am  anxious  to  save  that  boy  from 
the  hands  of  the  law,  and  for  that  reason  no  stone 
must  be  left  unturned,  no  secret  kept  silent.  Carry 

your  mind  back  to  that  time,  and  tell  me  if  that  is 

i        " 
true. 

She  puckered  her  brows  together  as  if  in  perplexity 
and  tapped  one  slim,  perfectly-manicured  finger 
against  her  white  teeth. 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  last;  "yes,  it  was  every  bit  of  it 
true — every  bit,  Mr.  Headland.  For  the  moment, 
in  that  room  of  terror,  I  had  forgotten  poor  Franco's 
death.  But  now — yes,  I  can  remember  it  all  fully. 
My  uncle  spoke  the  truth,  Mr.  Headland — I  can 
promise  you  that." 

Cleek  sighed.     Then: 

"But  it  was  your  revolver  he  used,  Miss  Brellier? 
Try  to  remember.  He  said  that  he  told  you  of  it 
at  the  time.  Can  you  recollect  your  uncle  telling 
you  that  he  used  your  revolver  to  shoot  the  dog  with, 
or  not?  That  is  what  I  want  to  know.'* 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  spread  out  her 
hands. 

"It  is  so  difficile.  I  am  trying  to  remember,  and 
the  matter  seemed  then  so  trivial !  But  there  is  no 
reason  to  doubt  my  uncle,  Mr.  Headland,  for  he 


204         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

loves  Nigel  dearly,  and  if  there  was  any  way  in  which 
he  could  help  to  unravel  this  so  terrible  plot  against 
him—  Oh!  I  am  sure  he  must  have  told  me  so,  surd 
There  would  be  no  point  in  his  telling  an  untruth  over 
that. " 

"And  yet  you  can  not  recall  the  actual  remark 
that  your  uncle  made,  Miss  Brellier?" 

"No.  But  I  am  sure,  sure  that  what  he  said  was 
true." 

Cleek  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Then,  of  course,  you  must  know  best.  Well,  we 
must  try  and  find  some  other  loophole.  I  promised 
Merriton  I'd  speak  a  few  words  to  you,  Miss  Brellier, 
just  to  tell  you  to  keep  up  heart — though  it's  a  diffi 
cult  task.  But  everything  that  can  be  done,  unll  be 
done.  And — if  you  should  happen  to  hear  that  I 
have  thrown  up  the  case,  and  gone  back  to  London, 
don't  be  a  bit  surprised.  There  are  other  ways,  other 
means  of  helping  than  the  average  person  dreams  of. 
Don't  mention  anything  I  have  said  to  you  to  any 
body.  Keep  you  own  counsel,  please,  and  as  a  token 
of  my  regard  for  that  I  will  give  you  my  word  that 
everything  that  can  be  done  for  Merriton  will  be. 
Good-bye." 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  she  laid  her  slim  one  in  it. 
For  a  moment  her  eyes  measured  him,  scanning  liis 
face  as  though  to  trace  therein  anything  of  treachery 
to  the  cause  which  she  held  so  dear.  Then  her  face 
broke  into  a  wintry  smile. 


Questions — and  Answers  205 

"I  have  a  feeling,  Mr.  Headland,"  she  said  softly, 
'that  you  are  going  to  be  a  good  friend  to  us,  Nigel 
and  me.  It  is  a  woman's  intuition  that  tells  me,  and 
it  helps  me  to  bear  the  too  dreadful  suspense  under 
which  we  are  all  now  labouring.  You  have  my  word 
of  honour  never  to  speak  of  this  talk  together,  and  to 
keep  a  guard  on  my  tongue  for  the  future,  if  it  is  to 
help  Nigel.  You  will  let  me  know  how  things  go  on, 
Mr.  Headland?" 

"That  I  cannot  for  the  present  tell.  It  will  de 
pend  entirely  upon  how  events  shape  themselves,  Miss 
Brell'er.  You  may  hear  soon — you  may  not  hear 
at  all.  But  I  believe  in  his  innocence  as  deeply  as 
you  do.  Therefore  you  must  be  content  that  I  shall 
do  my  best,  whatever  happens.  Good-bye." 

He  gave  her  fingers  a  soft  squeeze,  held  them  a 
moment  and  then,  dropping  them,  bowed  and  swung 
upon  his  heel  to  join  Mr.  Narkom,  who  was  standing 
near  by,  the  last  of  the  group  of  interested  spectators 
of  that  afternoon's  ghastly  business.  Dollops  stood 
a  little  back  from  them,  awaiting  his  orders. 

"We'll  have  some  supper  at  the  village  'pub,'  my 
dear  Lake,"  said  Cleek  in  a  loud,  clear  voice  that 
carried  to  every  corner  of  the  deserted  garden,  "and 
then  come  back  to  the  Towers  long  enough  to  pack 
up  our  traps  and  clear  out  of  this  haunted  house 
altogether.  The  case  is  one  too  many  for  me,  and  I'm 
chucking  it."  Mr.  Narkom  opened  his  mouth  to 
speak,  but  his  colleague  gave  him  no  opportunity. 


206         The  Riddle  of  lite  Frozen  Flame 

"It's  abit  too  fishy  for  my  liking,"  lie  went  on,  "when 
the  only  clues  a  man's  got  to  go  on  are  a  dancing 
flame  and  a  patch  of  charred  grass — which,  by  the 
way,  never  struck  me  as  particularly  interesting  at 
the  best  of  times — and  when  evidence  points  so 
strongly  toward  young  ^Ten-item's  guilt.  All  1  can 
say  is,  Jet's  go.  That's  the  ticket  for  inc." 

"And  for  me  also,  old  man!"  agreed  Mr.  Narkom, 
emphatically,  following  (leek's  lead  though  rather 
in  the  dark.  "It's  back  to  London  for  me,  whenever 
you're  ready." 

"And  that'll  be  as  >oon  as  Dollops  can  pack  my 
things  and  get  'em  off  to  the  station." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A    NEW    DKPAKTUKR 

question  of  packing  was  a  very  small 
matter  altogether,  and  it  was  barely  seven 
o'clock  when,  this  finished,  Cleek  and  Mr. 
Narkom  had  collected  their  coals  and  hats  from  the 
hatstand,  given  Borkins  tin-  benefit  of  their  very 
original  ideas  as  to  closing  up  the  house  and  clearing 
oul  of  it  as  soon  as  possible,  each  of  them  slipped  a 
sovereign  into  his  hand,  and  were  standing  talking  a 
short  while  at  the  open  front  door.  The  chill  of  the 
evening  crept  into  the  house  in  cold  breaths,  turning 
the  gloomy  hall  into  a  good  representation  of  a  family 
vault. 

"All  I  can  say,"  said  (.leek,  chewing  a  cigar,  his 
hands  in  his  trousers'  pockets,  and  his  feet  rocking 
from  toe  to  heel,  "is — get  out  of  it ,  Borkins,  as  soon  as 
you  can.  I  don't  mind  teilin'  you,  I'm  jolly  glad  to 
be  clearin'  out  myself.  It's  been  a  devilish  uii- 
caimy  business  from  first  to  la<t,  and  not  much  to 
my  taste.  Now,  /  like  a  decent,  robbery  or  a  nice, 
quick-fingered  forger  that  wants  a  bit  of  huntin'  up. 
^  on  know,  even  detectives  have  their  particular 


208         The  Riddle  of  tJie  Frozen  Flame 

favourites  in  the  matter  of  crime,  Borkins,  and  a 
beastly  murder  isn't  exactly  in  my  line." 

Borkins  laughed  respectfully,  rubbing  his  hands 
together. 

"Nor  mine,  sir,"  he  made  answer.  ''Though  I 
must  say  you  gentlemen  'avcn't  been  a  bit  what  I 
imagined  detectives  to  be.  "When  you  first  come 
down,  you  know,  I  spotted  something  different  about 
you,  and— 

"Ought  to  be  on  the  Force  yourself!"  supple 
mented  Cleek. 

"Arid  not  such  a  bad  callin'  neither!"  returned 
Borkins  with  a  grin.  "But  I  knew  you  wasn't  what 
you  said  you  was,  in  a  manner  of  speakin'.  And  if 
it  'adn't  been  for  all  this  unpleasantness,  it  would 
'ave  bin  a  nice  little  change  for  yer,  wouldn't  it? 
Sorry  to  see  the  last  of  you,  sirs,  I  am  that.  And 
that  young  gentleman  of  your'n.  But  I  must  say 
I'm  glad  to  be  done  of  the  business." 

Cleek  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  into  the  air. 

"Oh,  you'll  have  another  dose  of  it  before  you're 
entirely  finished!"  he  responded.  ""When  the  case 
comes  on  in  London.  That's  the  ticklish  part  of  the 
business.  We'll  meet  there  again,  I  expect,  as  Mr. 
Lake  and  I  will  be  bound  to  give  our  evidence — 
which  is  a  thankless  task  at  the  best  of  times.  .  .  . 
Hello!  Dollops,  got  the  golf-clubs  and  walking-sticks? 
That's  a  good  lad.  Now  we'll  be  off  to  old  London 
again — eh, Lake?  Good-bye, Borkins.  Best  of  luck." 


A  New  Departure  209 

"Good-bye,  gentlemen." 

The  two  men  got  into  the  taxi  Dollops  had  pro 
cured  for  them,  while  that  worthy  hopped  on  to  the 
seat  beside  the  driver  and  gave  him  the  order  to  "Nip 
it  for  the  eight  o'clock  train  for  Limnon,  as  farst  as 
you  kin  slide  it,  cabby!"  To  which  the  chauffeur 
made  some  equally  pointed  remark,  and  they  were 
off. 

But  Borkins  either  did  not  realize  that  the  eight- 
o'clock  train  for  London  was  a  slow  one,  or  though 
that  it  was  the  most  convenient  for  the  two  gentle 
men  most  interested,  because  he  did  not  give  a 
thought  to  the  matter  that  that  particular  train 
stopped  at  the  next  station,  some  three  miles  away 
from  Fetch  worth.  And  even  if  he  had  and  could 
have  seen  the  two  tough-looking  sailormen  who 
descended  from  the  first-class  compartment  there 
and  stepped  on  to  the  tiny  platform  among  one  or 
two  others,  foe  would  never  have  dreamed  of  as 
sociating  them  with  the  Mr.  Headland  and  his  man 
Dollops  who  had  such  a  short  time  ago  left  the 
Towers  for  London. 

Which  is  just  as  well,  as  it  happened,  for  it  was 
with  Borkins  that  Cleek  and  Dollops  were  most  con 
cerned.  Upon  the  probability  of  their  friendship 
with  the  butler  hung  the  chance  of  their  getting  work. 
They  had  left  Mr.  Narkom  to  go  up  to  London  and 
keep  his  eyes  open  for  any  clues  in  the  bank  robberies 
case,  and  had  promised  to  report  to  him  as  soon  as 


210         The  Riddle  of  ike  Frozen  Flame 

possible,  if  there  were  anything  to  be  gleaned  at  the 
factory.  Mr.  Narkoin  hud  expressed  his  doubts 
about  it,  had  told  Cleek  that  he  really  did  not  see  how 
any  human  agency  could  possibly  get  Nigel  Merriton 
off,  with  such  appalling  evidence  to  damn  him.  And 
what  an  electrical  factory  could  have  to  do  with 
it  .  .  .  ! 

"  You  forget  the  good  Borkins's  connection  with 
the  affair,"  returned  Cleek,  a  trifle  sharply,  "and  3-011 
forget  another  thing.  And  that  is,  that  I  have  found 
the  man  who  attempted  my  life,  and  m.^ai  eventually 
to  come  to  grips  with  him.  That  is  the  o  il.v  ,  ason 
why  I  did  not  speak  at  the  inquest  tlvs  afi .  noon. 
I  am  going  to  bide  my  time,  but  I'll  have  the  beggar 
in  the  end.  If  working  for  a  time  at  an  electrical 
factory  is  going  to  help  on  matters,  then  work  there 
I'm  going  to,  and  Dollops  with  me. 

"If  there  should  be  need  of  me,  don't  forget  that 
I  am  Bill  Jones,  sailorman,  once  of  Jamaica,  now  of 
the  Factory,  Saltfleet.  And  stick  to  the  code.  A 
wire  will  fetch  me."  lie  hopped  out  upon  the  plat 
form  just  here,  in  his  ''cut-throat"  make-up— a  little 
hastily  done,  for  the  lime  between  the  stations  had 
been  short — but  excellent,  nevertheless;  then  as  Mr. 
Narkoin  gripped  his  hand,  he  put  his  head  into  the 
carriage  again. 

"My  love  to  Ailsa  if  you  see  her,  and  tell  her  all 
goes  well  with  me,  like  a  good  friend!"  whispered 
Cleek,  softly. 


A   Neir  Departure  211 

Mr.  Narkom  nodded,  waved  his  hand,  and  then 
the  two  navvies  swung  away  from  the  train,  gave  up 
their  tickets  to  the  porter — having  procured  third- 
class  as  well  as  first  for  just  this  very  arrangement — 
and  after  enquiring  just  how  far  it  was  to  Salttleet 
Bay,  and  learning  that  it  was  a  matter  of  "two  mile 
and  a  'arf  by  road,  and  a  couple  o'  mile  by  the  fields/' 
strode  off  through  the  little  gate  and  on  to  the  high 
road.  Just  how  adventurous  their  cjuest  was  going 
to  turn  out  to  be  even  they  did  not  fully  realize. 

They  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  bay,  just  as  a 
clock  in  the  church  tower  half  a  mile  away  struck  out 
nine,  in  deep-throated,  >onorous  tones. 

To  the  right  of  them  the  "  Pig  and  Vfhistle"  flaunted 
its  lights  and  its  noise,  its  hilarious  laughter  and  its 
coarse-thrown  jests,  (leek  sighed  as  he  turned  to 
ward  it. 

"Now  for  it,  boy,"  he  said  softly,  and  then  started 
to  whistle  and  to  laugh  alternately,  making  his  way 
across  the  cobbles  to  the  brightly-lit  little  pub. 
Someone  ran  to  the  doorway  and  peered  out  at  sound 
of  his  voice,  trying  to  penetrate,  the  darkness  and  dis 
cover  who  the  stranger  might  be  thus  gaily  em 
ployed. 

('leek  sang  out  a  greeting. 

"Good  evenin'  to  yer,  matey!  This  'ers's  Bill 
Jones  and  'is  pal.  'Ow.  I'll  tyke  the  'ighroad,  and 
you'll  tyke  the  laow  road!  and  I'll  be  in  Scotland 
afore  yer'.  .  .  .  'Ere,  Sammie,  me  lad,  come 


212         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

along  o'  me  an'  warm  yer  witals.  I  could  drink  the 
sea — strite  I  could!" 

He  heard  the  man  in  the  doorway  laugh,  and  then 
he  beckoned  to  him  to  come  along.  And  so  they 
entered  the  "Pig  and  Whistle,"  and  were  greeted 
enthusiastically  by  the  red-headed  barmaid,  while 
many  voices  went  up  to  greet  them,  showing  that 
already  they  had  got  on  the  right  side  of  the  men  who 
were  to  be  their  fellow- workers. 

"Gen'leman  'ere  yet?"  queried  Cleek,  jerking  his 
thumb  in  the  direction  whore  Borkins  had  stood  the 
night  before.  "I've  what  you  calls  an  appointment 
wiv  'irn,  yer  know.  And.  .  .  .  'Ere  the  blighter 
is!  Good  cvenin',  sir.  Pleased  ter  see  yer  again, 
though  lookin'  a  bit  pale  abaht  the  gills,  if  yer  don't 
mind  my  say  in'  so." 

"And  so  would  you  be,  if  you'd  been  through  the 
ordeal  I  'ave  this  afternoon,"  snapped  out  Borkins 
in  reply.  "It's  a  beastly  job  a-tellin'  people  what 
yer  seen  and  'eard.  It  is  indeed!" 

:"Arder  ter  tell  'em  wot  you  'aren't  seen  an'  'card, 
all  the  syme,  matey,"  threw  in  Cleek.  "Done  that 
meself,  I  'as — bit  of  sleight-o'-'and  what  they'd 
pulled  me  up  for  out  Whitechapel  way  when  I  was 
a  kid.  Seein'  the  master  ternight,  ain't  we,  sir?" 

Borkins  slopped  down  his  tankard  of  beer  and 
wiped  his  mouth  before  replying. 

"Seen  him  already,"  he  answered  with  a  touch  of 
asperity,  "and  told  'im  about  you  both,  I  'ave. 


"E  says  you're  ter  go  up  to  the  foreman  termorrow, 
say  I  sent  you.  Say  the  master  'as  passed  you, 
that'll  be  all  right.  Couple  o'  quid  a  week,  and  the 
chance  of  a  rise  if  you're  circumspect  and  keeps  yer 
mouth  closed." 

"That's  my  gyme  all  right,  guv'nor!"  struck  in 
Dollops  shrilly,  clapping  his  tankard  down  upon  the 
bar  with  a  loud  bang.  "Close  as  'oiiscs  we  are, 
guv'nor.  An'  me  mate's  like  a  hoyster." 

"Well,  mind  you  remember  it!"  retorted  Borkins 
sharply.  "Or  it'll  go  badly  with  the  pair  of  you. 
That's  fixed,  then,  ain't  it?  What's  yer  names 
again?  I've  forgotten." 

"Bill  Jones,  an'  'im's  Sammic  Robinson,"  replied 
Cleek  quickly.  "I'm  much  obliged  to  yer,  sir. 
Any  one  know  where  we  kin  get  a  shake-down  for  the 
night?  Time  enough  ter  look  for  lodgin's  termorrer." 

It  was  the  barmaid's  turn  to  speak,  and  she  rested 
her  rather  heavy  person  against  the  bar  and  touched 
Clock's  shoulder. 

"Mother,  she  'as  lodgers,  dearie,"  she  said  in  a 
coaxing  voice.  ''You  kin  come  along  to  us,  and  stay 
right  along,  if  you're  comfortable.  Nice  beds  we 
'ave,  and  a  good  'ot  dinner  in  the  middle  uv  the  day. 
You  kin  take  yer  breakfast  with  us.  Better  come 
along  to  'er  ternight." 

"Thanks,  I  will,"  grunted  Cleek  in  reply,  and  dug 
Dollops  in  the  ribs,  just  to  show  him  how  pleased  he 
was  with  the  arrangement. 


214         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

And  so  the  evening  passed.  The  lodgings  were 
taken,  the  charge  being  moderate  for  the  kind  of 
living  that  men  in  their  walk  of  life  were  used  to.  and 
the  next  morning  found  them  both  ensconced  at 
their  new  work. 

The  overseer  proved  to  be  a  big,  burl}'  man,  v.  ho, 
having  received  the  message  from  "the  gentleman 
at  the  inn,"  immediately  set  them  to  work  on  the 
machinery.  The  task  was  simple;  they  had  merely 
to  feed  the  machine  with  so  much  raw  material,  and 
the  other  men  and  machines  did  the  rest.  Bnt  what 
pleased  them  more,  they  were  put  to  work  side  by 
side.  This  gave  Cleek  a  good  opportunity  of  passing 
remarks  now  and  then  to  Dollops  and  telling  him  to 
take  note  of  things. 

The  factory  was  a  smallish  place,  with  not  too  large 
a  payroll,  and  Cleek  gleaned  from  that  first  morning's 
work  that  it,  was  run  solely  for  the  purpose  of  making 
electrical  fittings. 

""Where  do  they  ship  'em  to,  matey?"  he  asked  his 
next-door  neighbour,  a  pleasant-faced  chap  about 
twenty-three  or  four. 

"Over  ter  Belgium.  Big  Firm  there  what  buys  from 
the  master." 

"Oh?"  So  they  were  trading  with  Belgium,  were 
they?  That  was  interesting.  "'Well,  then.  *ow  the 
dickens  do  they  send  em  out?" 

"Boats,  idiot!"  The  man's  voice  was  full  of 
contempt  for  the  nincompoop  who  couldn't  use  his 


A  New  Departure  £15 

head.  Above  the  clang  of  the  machinery  deck's 
voice  rose  a  trifle  higher. 

"Well,  any  fellow  would  know  that  /"  he  said  with 
a  laugh.  "But.  what  I  means  is,  what  sort  er  boats? 
Big  tins.  I  should  sy,  i'er  stuff  like  this." 

The  man  looked  about  him  and  bent  his  head.  His 
voice  dropped  a  note  or  two. 

"F?,s7zm' boats, "he  said  softly,  and  could  be  made  to 
say  no  more,  in  spite  of  the  scornful  laugh  with  which 
("leek  greeted  this  news. 

Fishing  boats?  .  .  .  Il'm.  That  was  devil 
ish  peculiar.  Sending  out  electrical  fittings  to 
Belgium  in  fishing  boat*  .'  Funny  sort,  of  a  way  to  do 
trade4,  though  no  doubt  it  was  quite  permissible  up 
lo  a  point.  Well,  he  must  glean  something  more 
out  of  tliis  good  fellow  before  the  day  was  over. 

A  glass  of  beer  at  the  '*  Pig  and  Whistle"  after  dinner 
worked  wonders  with  the  man's  tongue.  He  was  not 
a  favourite,  so  free  drinks  did  not  often  come  his  way. 
After  the  second  glass  lie  seemed  almost  ready  to  sell 
his  soul  lo  this  amicable  newcomer,  but  Cleek  was 
wise,  and  bided  his  time.  lie  didn't  mean  to  fleece 
his  man  of  the  information  in  sight  and  sound  of  his 
fellows.  So  he  simply  talked  of  the  topics  of  the  day, 
discussed  the  labour  question — from  a  new  view 
point — and  then,  as  they  strolled  back  together  to 
the  factory,  just  as  the  whistle  began  to  blow  that 
told  the  hands  the  dinner-hour  was  over,  Cleek  fired 
his  first  ,>liot. 


216         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"See  'ere,  matey,"  he  began  confidentially,  "you're 
a  decent  sort  of  bloke,  you  are!  Tell  us  a  bit  more 
about  them  there  fishin'  boats  wot  you  spoke  uv. 
I'm  that  interested,  I've  been  fair  eaten  up  with 
curiosity.  Yer  didn't  mean  the  master  of  this  plyce 
goes  and  ships  electrical  fittin's  and  such-like  out  to 
Belgium  in  fishin'  boats — strite,  eh?" 

"Yus."  Jenkins  nodded.  ''That's  exactly  what 
I  do  mean.  Seems  sort  er  funny,  don't  it?  And  I 
reckon  there's  somethin'  a  bit  fishy  about  the  whole 
thing.  But  I  keep  me  mouth  shut.  That  over 
seer's  the  very  devil  'imself.  Happen  you'll  larn  ier 
do  likewise.  Two  chaps  who  were  'ere  larst  thought 
they'd  be  a  bit  smarty  like,  and  told  'irn  they  were 
goin'  ter  tell  all  they  knew — though  God  knows  what 
it  was!  I  ain't  been  able  to  learn  much,  and  haven't 
tried  neither.  But  they  went — zip!  like  that! 
Never  saw  'em  no  more,  and  nothin'  come  of  it.  .  .  c 
Best  to  keep  your  mouth  shut,  mate.  In  this  'ere 
place,  any'ow." 

"Oh,"  said  Cleek  off-handedly,  "I'm  not  one  to 
blab.  You  needn't  be  afraid  o'  that.  By  the  way, 
who's  the  chap  with  the  black  mustache  a-stragglin' 
all  over  'is  fyce?  An'  the  narsty  eye?  Saw  'im  with 
Borkins,  the  man  wot  engaged  me  night  before 
last." 

"That  wasn't  Borkins,  me  beauty/'  returned 
Jenkins  with  a  laugh.  ''That  ain't  his  name.  "Ow 
did  you  come  ter  think  of  it?  That  fellow's  name's 


A  New  Departure  217 

Piggott.  And  the  other  man?  We  calls  'im  Dirty 
Jim,  because  'e  does  all  the  dirty  work  for  the  boss; 
but  'is  real  name's  Dobbs.  And  if  you  takes  my 
word  for  anything,  pal,  you  won't  go  rubbiri'  'im  up 
the  wrong  way.  'E's  a  fair  devil!" 

H'm!  "Dirty  Jim,"  otherwise  Jim  Dobbs.  And 
he  was  in  the  employment  of  this  very  extraordinary 
firm  for  the  purpose  01  doing  its  "'  dirty  work."  Well, 
there  seemed  a  good  deal  of  employment  for  him,  if 
that  was  the  case.  And  Borkins  was  not  Borkins  in 
this  part  of  the  world. 

Cleek  stepped  back  to  his  work  a  little  thought 
ful,  a  little  absent-minded,  until  the  frown  upon 
his  forehead  caused  Dollops  lo  lean  over  and 
whisper  anxiously,  "Nothin'  the  matter,  is  there, 
sir?" 

lie  shook  his  head  rapidly. 

"No,  boy,  no.  Simply  thinking,  and  smelling  a 
rat  somewhere." 

"Been  smellin'  of  it  meself  this  parst  two  hours," 
returned  Dollops  in  a  sibilant  whisper.  His  eye 
shone  for  a  moment  with  the  light  of  battle.  "Got 
sumnimk  ter  tell  you,"  he  whispered  under  cover  of 
the  noise.  "Summink  wot  ought  ter  interest 
yer,  I  don't  fink.  'Ave  ter  keep  till  evenin'.  Eh, 
Bill?" 

"Right  you  are,  matey."  Cleek's  voice  rose 
loudly  as  the  overseer  passed,  pausing  a  moment  to 
watch  them  at  work.  "Nice  job  this,  I  must  sy. 


218         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Arfter  me  own  Varl,  strite  it  is.     Soon  catch  on  to  it , 
don't  yer?" 

"Ra-ther  /"  returned  Dollops  significantly. 

The  overseer,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  moved 
on. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

PRISONERS 

IT  WAS  iioi,  until  the  evening  was  fairly  far  ad 
vanced  \li;-i\  (h-.1  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
Dollous  alone  was  aifordeu  (leek.  He  took  it 
when  the  "Pig  and  Whistle"  wa*  niied  to  overflowing, 
ai'  i  handy  a  num  who  worked  at  the  faeiory  was 
not  inside  i:_  or  sanding  out>ide  near  the  li' lie  quay, 
holding  llit'1  usual  evening's  confab  on  the  affairs  of 
the  day.  ('!<<.  k  faugh  I  hold  oi'  Dollops  as  he  was 
making  his  \va\  hito  the  lit'le  }>ar. 

"Conic  tVr  n  I  urn  up  (he  road,  matey,"  he  said 
loudly.  "ITs  a  line  cNX-iiin'  wol  mykes  yer  'omesick 
t'er  a  sight  \ii  yer  own  fireside.  'Ave  another  drink 
later.  uiebt>e.  Coiiie  on." 

Dollops  linked  arms  with  him.  and,  smoking  and 
talking,  the,  two  men  went  off'  up  the  dark  lane  which 
led  from  the  quayside,  and  of  a  night-time  was  as  black 
as  a  pocket,  deck's  torch  showed  them  the  pathway, 
and  as  they  walked  they  talked  in  rapid  whispers. 

''Now,  lad.  let's  hear  all  you've  got  to  say!"  he 
rapped  out  at  length,  as  the  distance  grew  between 
themselves  and  the  crowded  little  pub,  and  they 
were  safely  out  of  earshot. 

219 


220         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Dollops  gulped  with  pent-up  excitement. 

"Lor!  sir,  there's  summink  wrong,  any'ow;  I've 
discovered  that  much ! "  he  broke  on  t  enthusiastically. 
"Chummed  up  with  ole  Black  Whiskers  I  did,  and 
promised  'im  a  'and  ternight  at  twelve  o'clock  ter 
do  some  loadin'  on  ter  the  fishin'  boats  wot's  on 
their  way  ter  Belgium.  'You're  a  nice-seemin'  sort 
er  lad,'  he  tole  me  after  we'd  bin  chat  tin'  fer  ten 
minutes  or  so.  'Want  ter  make  a  bit  of  extra  money 
by  'oldin'  of  your  tongue?'  I  was  on  it  like  a  knife. 
' Ra-///£T  /'  I  ses.  'Orl  right,' ses 'e.  'Come  along 
ter  the  quayside  ternight  at  twelve  o'clock.  There's 
a  bit  uf  loadin'  up  ter  be  done,  an'  only  a  few  uv  the 
men  are  required.  I  don't  choose  none  wot  I  don't 
cotton  to.'  'You'll  cotton  ter  me  all  right,  matey, ' 
I  ses,  with  a  sort  uv  a  larf  that  seemed  ter  tickle  'im. 
'I'm  as  close  as  the  devil  'imself.  Any  think  yer 
doesn't  want  me  ter  see.  just  tip  me  the  wink.'  'I 
will  that,'  ses  'e,  and  then  went  off.  An'  so  'ere  I  am, 
sir,  fixed  up  for  a  busy  evenin'  along  uv  ole  Black 
Whiskers.  An'  if  I  don't  learn  summink  this  night, 
well,  my  name  ain't  Dollops!" 

"Good  lad!"  said  Cleek,  giving  the  boy's  arm  a 
squeeze.  :< That's  the  way  to  do  it!  And  is  that  all 
you've  got  to  tell  me?  I've  done  a  bit  myself,  and 
chummed  up  with  a  chap  called  Jenkins,  the  tall,  thin 
man  who  works  on  the  left  of  me,  and  he's  let  me  into 
the  secret  of  the  fishing  boat  business.  But  he's 
a  close-mouthed  devil.  Either  doesn't  know  any- 


Prisoners 

thing,  or  won't  toll.  I'm  not  quite  sure  which.  But 
he  wasted  a  good  deal  of  valuable  breath  endeavour 
ing  to  teach  me  to  keep  my  mouth  shut.  Gad!  I'd 
give  something  to  have  a  few  moments  alone 
with  your  friend  Black  Whiskers!  There's  a 
ripped  pillow-case  in  my  portmanteau  which  ought 
to  interest  him.  And  what  else  did  you  learn, 
Dollops?" 

"Only  that  what  they  ships  is  electric  tubin's  ter 
perfect  flexible  electric  wirin's  wot  is  used  for  in 
stallations,  sir,"  returned  Dollops.  "That's  what 
most  of  the  things  were  wot  I  set  eyes  on  after  workin'- 
hours,  stacked  up  all  ready  ter  be  loaded  on  ter  the 
boats.  Long,  thin  things  they  were,  an'  ought  ter 
be  easy  work,  judgin'  from  their  contents.  But 
why  they  make  all  this  mystery  about  it  fair  beats 
me  /" 

"And  me  into  the  bargain,  Dollops,"  interposed 
Cleek,  with  a  little  sigh.  "But  there's  an  old  saying, 
that  there's  no  smoke  without  fire,  and  ordinary 
people  don't  make  such  a  devilish  fuss  about  others 
knowing  their  business  if  they're  on  the  straight. 
What  all  this  has  got  to  do  with  the  'Frozen  Flame' 
business  I  must  confess  somewhat  puzzles  me  to 
discover.  But  that  it  lias  something  to  do  with  it  is 
proved  by  that  fishy  character  Borkins,  and  the 
amiable  attempt  of  his  friend  to  murder  so  humble  a 
person  as  myself.  Now  it's  up  to  me  to  find  the 
missing  link  in  the  chain.  .  .  .  Hello!  here's  a 


222         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

gap  in  the  hedge  here.  Looks  like  it  had  been  made 
on  purpose.  Let's  go  and  investigate." 

He  whipped  his  little  torch  round  and  the  circle  of 
light  flashing  over  the  ground,  revealed  to  their 
searching  eyes  something  vastly  unexpected  in  such 
a  place  and  yet  which,  after  all,  seemed  to  fit  into  a 
place  where  so  much  mystery  and  secretiveness  was 
in  the  air.  They  themselves,  disguised  as  such  rough 
characters,  fitted  into  the  strange  picture,  which 
struck  Cleek,  even  in  spite  of  his  many  peculiar  cases, 
as  very  much  out  of  the  ordinary. 

A  gap  in  the  hedge  there  was,  right  enough.  And 
through  the  gap — someone  must  have  been  working 
here  a  very  short  time  before — a  square  of  turf,  cut 
carefully  out  and  laid  upon  one  side,  revealed  to 
their  astonished  eyes  a  wooden  trap-door,  exactly 
suggestive  of  the  pirates'  den  of  a  child's  imagination, 
and  with  a  huge  iron  ring  fastened  to  the  centre  of  it. 

Cleek  whistled  inaudibly,  and  turning  round  upon 
Dollops  a  happy  light  in  his  eyes  and  a  smile,  almost 
of  amusement  on  his  lips. 

"Gad!"  he  exclaimed  softly.  "Game  to  try  this, 
Dollops.  I  am  going  to  have  a  shot  at  it  myself." 

"But  you  ain't  got  no  firearms  on  yer,  sir,  in  case 
o'  h'accidents,"  returned  the  literal  minded  Dollops, 
"and  no  man  in  'is  senses  \vould  attempt  to  go  down 
that  thing  without  'em." 

"Well,  I've  been  called  a  lunatic  before  this,  lad. 
And  going  down  it  I  am,  this  minute.  And  if  you've 


Prisoners  223 

the  least  qualms  at  following  me,  you  can  just  watch 
up  here  and  warn  me  with  the  old  signal  if  you  hear 
any  one  coming.  But  I'm  going  down,  to  find  out 
where  this  thing  leads  to,  and  a  dollar  to  a  ducat  it'll 
lead  to  a  good  deal  that  means  the  unravelling  of  a 
riddle.  The  fellow  who  tangled  the  threads  in  the 
first  place  has  a  head  any  one  might  admire.  But 
what  I  want  to  know  is  what  he's  taking  all  this 
trouble  for.  Coming,  Dollops?" 

Dollops  sent  a  reproachful  look  into  Cleek's  face 
and  sniffed  audibly. 

"Of  course  I'm  comin',  guv'nor,"  he  made  answer. 
"D'yer  think  I'd  be  such  a  dirty  blighter  as  ter  let 
you  go  dahn  there — p'raps  ter  your  very  death — 
alone?  Not  me,  sir.  Dollops  is  a-follerin'  wherever 
you  lead,  and  if  you  chooses  'ell  itself,  well,  'e's  ready 
ter  be  roasted  and  fried  in  the  devil's  saucepan,  so 
long  as  'e  keeps  yer  company." 

Without  waiting  for  the  end  of  this  gallant,  if 
rather  prolonged  speech  Cleek  knelt  down,  set  his  two 
hands  upon  the  iron  ring  and  pulled  for  all  he  was 
worth.  But  the  ease  with  which  the  door  lifted 
came  as  something  of  a  surprise.  It  came  up 
silently,  almost  sending  Cleek  over  backward,  as 
indeed  it  would  have  done  a  man  with  less  poise,  but 
he  easily  recovered  himself.  He  and  Dollops  cau 
tiously  approached  the  edge,  and  in  the  half-light 
which  the  moon  shed  upon  it  (they  did  not  use  Cleek's 
torch)  saw  that  a  flight  of  roughly-made  clay  steps 


224         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

led  down  into  darkness  below.  They  sat  back  upon 
their  heels  and  listened.  Not  a  sound. 

"Coining?"  whispered  Cleek  in  a  low,  tense  whis 
per. 

"Yes  sir."  Dollops  was  beside  him  in  an  instant. 
Cleek  took  the  first  step  carefully,  and  very  slowly 
descended  into  the  darkness,  with  Dollops  close  be 
hind  him.  Down  and  down  they  went,  and  on 
reaching  the  bottom,  found  the  place  opened  out 
into  a  sort  of  roughly -made  tunnel,  just  as  high  as  a 
man's  head,  which  ran  on  straight  into  the  darkness 
in  front  of  them. 

"Gawd!  gives  yer  the  fair  creeps,  don't  it?" 
muttered  Dollops  as  they  stood  in  the  gloom  and 
tried  to  take  their  bearings.  "  What  yer  goin'  ter  do, 
sir?" 

"Find  out  where  it  leads  to — if  there's  time," 
whispered  Cleek  rapidly.  "We've  got  to  find  out 
what  these  human  moles  are  burrowing  in  the  earth 
like  this  for.  I'd  give  a  good  deal  to  know.  Hear 
anything?" 

"Not  a  blinkin'  sound,  sir." 

"All  right.  We'll  try  the  torch,  and  if  any  one 
turns  up  we'll  have  to  run  for  it.  Now."  He  touched 
the  electric  button,  and  a  blob  of  light  danced  out 
upon  the  rough  clay  floor,  revealing  as  it  swung  in 
Cleek's  swift  fingers  the  whole  circumference  of  the 
place  from  ground  to  ceiling. 

"Cleverly  made,"   muttered    that   gentleman   in 


Prisoners  225 

an  admiring  whisper.  "It  reminds  me  of  the  old 
'Twisted  Arm'  days,  Dollops,  and  the  tunnels  that 
ran  to  the  sewers.  Remember?" 

"I  should  just  jolly  well  think  I  do,  guv'nor! 
Them  were  days,  if  yer  like  it!  Never  knew  next 
minute  if  yer  were  goin'  ter  see  daylight  again." 

"And  this  little  adventure  of  ours  seems  a  fair 
imitation  of  them!"  returned  Cleek,  with  a  noiseless 
laugh.  "Let's  move  a  bit  farther  on  and  get  our 
bearings.  Hello!  here's  a  little  sort  of  cupboard 
without  a  door.  And  .  .  .  look  at  those  sacks 
standing  there  against  that  other  side  in  that  little 
cut-out  place,  Dollops.  Now  I  wonder  what  the 
devil  they  contain.  Talk  about  the  Catacombs! 
They  aren't  in  it  with  this  affair." 

Dollops  crept  up  noiselessly  and  laid  a  hand  upon 
one  of  the  great  sacks  that  stood  one  upon  the  other 
in  three  double  rows,  and  tried  to  feel  the  contents 
with  his  fingers.  It  gave  an  absolutely  unyielding 
surface,  as  though  it  might  be  stuffed  with  concrete. 

:*'Ard  as  a  ship's  biscuit,  sir,"  he  ejaculated. 
"Now  I  wonder  what  the  dickens? 

His  voice  trailed  off  suddenly,  and  he  stood  a  mo 
ment  absolutely  still,  every  nerve  in  his  slim  young 
body  taut  as  wire,  every  muscle  rigid.  For  along  the 
passage — not  so  very  far  in  front  of  them,  from  where 
it  seemed  to  terminate— came  the  thud  of  men's  feet 
upon  the  soft  clayey  ground.  The  torch  went  out  in 
an  instant.  In  another,  Cleek  had  caught  Dollops's 


226         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

arm  and  drawn  him  into  the  narrow  aperture,  where, 
with  faces  to  the  wall,  they  stood  tense  and  rigid, 
listening  while  the  steps  came  nearer  and  nearer. 
They  waited  in  the  darkness,  as  men  in  the  Bonnet 
Rouge  days  must  have  waited  for  the  stroke  of 
Madame  Guillotine. 

.  The  footsteps  came  forward  leisurely. 
The  intruders  could  hear  the  sound  of  muffled  voices. 
One,  brief,  concise,  clipping  its  words  short,  and  with 
a  note  of  cool  authority  in  the  low  tones;  the  other — 
Dollops  huddled  his  shoulders  closer  and  contrived  to 
whisper  "Black  Whiskers"  before  the  two  men  came 
abreast  of  them.  Strange  to  be  walking  thus  com 
fortably  in  the  dark!  Either  they  were  sure  of  their 
way  that  it  didn't  matter  about  having  a  light,  or 
else  they  were  afraid  to  use  a  torch. 

"You  will  see  that  it  is  done,  Dobbs,  and  done 
properly  to-night?"  sounded  the  brisk  tones  of 
"  Black  Whiskers' "  companion.  And  then  the  reply : 
"Yes,  it'll  be  done  all  right.  We're  sending  'em  off 
at  one  o'clock  sharp.  Loadin'  at  twelve.  No  need 
to  worry  about  that,  sir." 

"And  these  two  newcomers?  You  can  vouch  for 
their  reliability  to  keep  their  mouths  shut,.  Dobbs? 
We  wouldn't  have  chanced  taking  them  on  if  we 
hadn't  been  so  short-handed,  but  .  .  „  you're 
sure  of  them,  eh?" 

They  could  hear  "Dirty  Jim's"  ugly  little  chuckle. 
It  seemed  laden  with  sinister  purpose. 


Prisoners  227 

"They're  sound  enough,  master,  I  promise  yer!" 
he  made  reply.  "Ugliest-lookin'  pair  er  cut-throats 
yer  ever  laid  yer  peepers  on.  Seen  dirtier  business 
than  this,  I  dare  swear.  And  Piggott's  on  to  the 
right  kind,  all  right.  Good  man,  Piggott." 

The  two  came  opposite  them,  and  stopped  a  mo 
ment,  as  though  they  might  be  wishing  to  investigate 
the  contents  of  the  sacks  that  stood  nearby,  hidden  by 
the  enveloping  darkness.  The  tension  under  which 
Cleek  and  the  youthful  Dollops  laboured  was  tre 
mendous.  Not  daring  to  breathe  they  stood  there 
hugging  the  wall,  their  every  muscle  aching  with  the 
strain,  and  then  the  two  strangers  walked  on  again, 
still  talking  in  low,  casual  voices,  until  the}7  had 
reached  the  end  of  the  passage  where  the  steps 
started  abruptly  upward.  Then  a  patch  of  light 
showed  suddenly. 

"Steps  here;  be  careful.  They're  none  too  easy," 
came  the  cautious  voice  of  Black  Whiskers.  "I'll  go 
up  first,  so's  you  kin  follow  in  my  steps.  What's 
this?  The  door  been  left  open,  eh?  I'll  'avc  a  few 
words  with  that  chap  Jenkins  afore  I'm  many  days 
older.  I'll  larn  'im  to  disobey  'is  orders!  Any  one 
might  come  along  'ere  and  drop  in  casual-like!  .  .  . 
The  unreliable  swine!" 

The  light  grew7  less  and  less  as  the  bearer  of  it 
climbed  the  rude  stairs,  and  finally  vanished  al 
together.  And  as  it  disappeared  Dollops  clutched 
Cleek's  arm,  his  breath  coming  in  little  gasps. 


228         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"The  door,  sir —  "  he  gasped.  "If  they  close  that, 
we're —  Arid  even  as  he  spoke  there  came  a 

sound  of  sliding  bolts  and  a  thump  which  told  the 
truth  only  too  well. 

"Did  you  'ear,  sir?"  he  almost  moaned. 

The  trap  door  had  been  closed. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

IX    THE    DARK 

jETTER  men  than  they  might  have  quailed 
in  such  a  predicament.  Here  they  were,  at 
ten  o'clock  at  night,  shut  in  an  underground 
passage  that  led  heaven  only  knew  where,  and  with, 
to  say  the  least  of  it,  small  chance  of  escape.  They 
might  stay  there  all  night,  but  the  morning  would 
probably  bring  release  and — discovery.  It  was  a 
combination  which  brought  to  them  very  mixed 
emotions. 

Black  Whiskers,  should  he  be  their  rescuer  might 
at  once  assume  an  entirely  different  role — would 
most  likely  do  so,  in  fact.  There  was  a  grim  ele 
ment  in  this  game  of  chance  which  they  would  just 
as  soon  had  been  absent. 

Well,  here  they  were,  and  the  next  thing  would  be 
to  try  their  hands  at  escape  on  their  own  account. 
Perhaps  the  trap-door  hadn't  been  tightly  fastened 
down.  It  was  a  chance,  of  course. 

"We'll  try  the  trap-door  end  first,  lad,"  said  Cleek. 
"If  that  doesn't  work  we'll  have  a  go  at  the  other,  but 
somehow  you  must  get  to  the  docks  by  midnight. 
You  may  learn  the  whole  secret  there,  and  it  would 

229 


230         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

be  the  worst  luck  in  the  world  if  you  missed  the 
chance;  you  mustn't.     Come  on." 

"I  seconds  that  motion,"  threw  in  Dollops,  though 
in  a  somewhat  forlorn  voice.  "I  kin  just  imagine 
what  it  must  be  like  to  be  a  ghost  tied  up  in  a  fambly 
vault,  an'  it  fills  me  with  a  feelin'  of  sympathy  for 
them  creeturs  wot  I  never  felt  before.  Like  a  bloom 
ing  messlinoleum  this  is!" 

"Mausoleum,  you  grammatical  wonder!"  re 
sponded  Cleek,  and  even  in  his  anxiety  he  could  not 
refrain  from  a  laugh. 

"Well,  mausoleum  or  muskiloleum  makes  no 
difference  to  me,  sir.  What  I  wants  ter  know  is— 
'ow  do  we  get  out  of  this  charmin'  little  country  seat? 
Try  the  trap-door,  you  ses.  Right  you  are!" 

He  was  up  the  rough  steps  like  a  shot,  forgetful  of 
the  fact  that,  though  the  door  might  be  closed,  there 
might  also  be  others  strolling  along  in  that  secluded 
spot.  Cleek  came  up  now,  behind  him,  and  with  a 
caution  of  silence  steadied  himself  upon  the  step  be 
low,  and  pressed  his  shoulder  up  against  the  heavy 
door.  He  pushed  and  shoved  with  all  his  might, 
while  Dollops  aided  with  every  ounce  of  strength  in 
his  young  body. 

The  door  responded  not  one  whit.  Black  Whiskers 
had  done  his  work  well  and  thoroughly,  possibly  as  an 
object-lesson  to  the  absent  Jenkins.  And  Jenkins, 
by  the  way,  was  the  name  of  Cleek's  new-found 
friend  of  the  factory.  H'm.  That  was  cause  for 


In  the  Dark  231 

thought.  Then  Jenkins  was  more  "in  the  know"  than 
he  had  given  him  credit  for.  Possibly  Black  Whis 
kers  knew  already  of  their  conversation  at  dinner 
time.  He'd  have  to  close  down  on  that  source  of 
information,  at  any  rate — if  they  ever  got  out  of  this 
business  alive. 

These  thoughts  passed  through  Cleek's  brain  even 
while  his  shoulders  and  his  strength  were  at  work 
upon  the  unresponsive  door.  Only  failure  marked 
their  efforts.  At  last,  breathless  and  exhausted  from 
the  strain,  Cleek  descended  the  steps  again.  He 
listened,  and,  hearing  nothing,  signalled  Dollops  to 
follow  him. 

'"They  must  have  got  in  somewhere,  and  here's 
hoping  it  wasn't  through  this  trap-door,"  he  said 
evenly.  "We'll  see  about  it  anyway.  Unless  they 
were  as  careful  with  the  door  at  the  other  end.  It's 
a  sporting  chance,  Dollops  my  lad,  and  we've  got  to 
take  it.  I'll  use  my  torch  unless  we  hear  anything. 
Then  we'll  have  to  trust  to  luck.  Heaven  alone 
knows  how  far  this  blessed  affair  runs  on.  We'll 
reach  London  soon,  if  we  go  on  like  this!" 

"Yus,  and  find  ourselves  in  Mr.  Narkom's  office, 
a-burrowin'  under  'is  Tghness'  desk!"  finished 
Dollops,  with  a  little  giggle  of  amusement.  "And 
'e  wouldn't  'arf  be  astonished,  would  'e,  sir?  .  .  . 
Crumbs !  but  the  chaps  wot  made  this  bloomin'  tube 
did  their  job  fair,  didn't  they?  It  goes  on  for 
ever.  .  .  .  Whew!  I'm  winded  already." 


232         Tfie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"Then  what  you'll  be  by  the  end  of  this  affair, 
goodness  knows,  my  lad!"  responded  Cleek,  over  his 
shoulder.  He  was  pressing  on,  hugging  the  wall,  his 
eyes  peering  into  the  gloom  ahead.  "It  seems  to  be 
continuing  for  some  time.  Hello !  here's  a  turning, 
and  the  question  is,  shall  we  go  straight  on,  or  turn?" 

"Seems  as  if  them  two  blighters  came  round  a 
turnin',  judging  from  the  nearness  of  their  voices, 
sir,"  said  Dollops,  with  entire  sense. 

Cleek  nodded. 

"You're  right.  .  .  .  More  sacks.  If  I  wasn't 
so  anxious  to  get  out  of  this  place  so  that  you 
shouldn't  be  late  for  your  'appointment'  with  our 
friend  Black  Whiskers,  I'd  chance  my  luck  and  have 
a  look  what  was  in  'em.  But  there's  no  time  now. 
We  don't  know  how  long  this  peculiar  journey  of 
ours  is  going  to  last." 

They  pressed  on  steadily  along  the  rough,  rmk-ly 
made  floor,  on  and  on  and  on,  the  little  torch  showing 
always  the  few  feet  in  front  of  them,  to  safeguard 
them  against  any  pitfalls  that  might  be  laid  for  the 
unwary  traveller.  It  seemed  hours  that.  Ihey  walked 
thus,  and  their  wonder  at  the  elaborateness  of  this 
extraordinary  tunnel  system  grew.  There  were 
turnings  every  now  and  again,  passageways  branch 
ing  off  from  the  main  one  in  to  other  patches  of  un 
broken  gloom.  And  it  was  a  t  icklish  job  at.  best .  At 
any  moment  someone  might  round  the  next  corner 
and  come  upon  them,  and  then — the  game  would  be 


In  the  Dark  233 

up  with  a  vengeance.  At  Dollops's  suggestion  they 
followed  always  the  turnings  upon  the  right. 

"Always  keep  to  the  right,  sir,  and  you'll  never  go 
far  wrong — that's  what  they  teaches  you  in  Lunnon. 
An'  that's  what  I  always  follows.  It's  no  use  gittin' 
lost.  So  best  make  a  set  rule  and  foller  it." 

"Well,  at  any  rate  there's  no  harm  in  doing  so," 
responded  Cleek  a  little  glumly.  "We  don't  know 
the  way  out  and  we  might  as  well  try  one  plan  as 
another.  Seems  pretty  well  closed  up  for  the  night, 
doesn't  it?  It  certainly  is  a  passage  and  if  the  door  at 
the  other  end  is  impassable  after  all  this  wandering, 
I'll,  I'll— I  don't  know." 

"Carn't  do  no  good  by  worritin',  sir.  Just  'ave  to 
carry  on — that's  all  we  kin  do,"  responded  Dollops, 
with  some  effort  at  comfort.  ''There's  summink  in 
front  of  us  now.  Looks  like  the  end  of  the  blinkin' 
cage',  don't  it?  Better  investigate  afore  we  'it  it  too 
hard,  sir." 

"You're  right,  Dollops." 

Cleek  stepped  cautiously  forward  into  the  gloom, 
lighting  it  up  as  he  progressed,  the  rays  of  his  tiny 
torch  always  some  five  feet  ahead  of  him.  And  the 
end  it  proved  to  be,  in  every  sense  of  the  word.  For 
here,  leading  upward  as  the  other  had  done,  was  a 
similar  little  flight  of  clay -hewn  steps,  while  at  the 
top  of  them — Cleek  gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief — showed 
a  square  of  indigo,  a  couple  of  stars  and — escape  at 
last. 


234         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"Thank  God!"  murmured  Cleek,  as  they  mounted 
the  rough  steps  and  came  out  into  the  open  air,  with 
the  free  sky  above  them  and  a  fine  wind  blowing  that 
soon  dispelled  the  effects  of  their  underground 
journey.  "Gad!  it's  good  to  smell  the  fresh  air 
again — eh,  Dollops?  Where  on  earth  are  we?  I 
say — look  over  there,  will  you?" 

Dollops  looked;  then  gasped  in  wonder,  astonish 
ment,  and  considerable  awe. 

"The  Flames,  guv'nor — the  blinkin'  Frozen 
Flames!" 

Cleek  laughed. 

"Yes.  The  Flames  all  right,  Dollops.  And  nearer 
than  we've  seen  'em,  too!  We  must  be  right  in 
the  middle  of  the  Fens,  from  the  appearance  of 
those  lights,  so,  all  told,  we've  done  a  mil',?  or  more 
underground,  which  isn't  so  bad,  my  lad,  wh^n  you 
come  to  look  at  the  time."  He  brought  out  his 
watch  and  surveyed  it  in  the  moonlight.  "Il'in. 
Ten  past  eleven.  You'll  have  to  look  sharp,  boy,  if 
you're  to  get  to  the  docks  by  twelve.  We've  a  good 
four  miles'  walk  ahead  of  us,  and — what  was-  that?" 

"That"  was  the  sound  of  a  man's  feet  coming 
swiftly  toward  them;  they  had  one  second  to  act, 
and  flight  over  this  marshy  ground,  filled  with  pit  holes 
as  it  was,  was  impossible.  No;  the  best  plan  was  to 
stay  where  they  were  and  chance  it. 

"Talk,  boy — talk"  whispered  Cleek,  and  began  a 
hasty  conversation  in  a  high-pitched,  cockney  voice, 


In  the  Dark  235 

to  which  Dollops  bravely  made  answer  in  the  best 
tone  he  could  muster  under  the  circumstances. 

Then  a  voice  snapped  out  at  them  across  the  small 
distance  that  separated  them  from  the  unseen 
stranger,  and  they  stiffened  instinctively. 

"What  the  hell  are  you  doing  here?"  it  called. 
'"Don't  you  know  that  it's  not  safe  to  be  in  this  dis 
trict  after  nightfall?  And  if  you  don't — well,  a 
pocketful  of  lead  will  perhaps  convince  you!" 

From  the  darkness  ahead  of  them  a  figure  followed 
the  voice.  Cleek  could  dimly  discern  a  tall,  slouchy- 
sho,adered  man,  clad  in  overalls,  with  a  cap  pulled 
down  close  over  his  eyes,  and  in  the  grasp  of  his  right 
hand  a  very  businesslike-looking  revolver. 

Cleek  thought  for  a  moment,  then  plunged  bravely 
in. 

"Come  up  from  the  passage,  sir,"  he  responded 
curtly.  "Loadin'  up  ternight,  and  some  fool  locked 
t'other  end  before  me  and  my  mate  'ere  'ad  finished 
our  work.  'Ad  to  come  along  this  w'y,  or  else  spend 
the  rest  of  the  night  dahn  there,  and  we're  due  for 
loadin'  the  stuff  at  the  docks  at  midnight.  Master'll 
be  devilish  mad  if  'e  finds  us  missin'." 

It  was  a  chance  shot,  but  somehow  chance  often 
favours  the  brave.  It  told.  The  man  lowered  his 
revolver,  gave  them  a  quick  glance  from  head  to  toe, 
and  then  swung  upon  his  heel. 

"Well,  better  clear  out  while  there's  no  danger," 
he  returned  sharply.  "Two  other  men  are  on  the 


236         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

watch-out  for  strangers.  Take  that  short  cut 
there" — he  pointed  to  the  left — "and  skirt  round  to 
the  road.  Quarter  of  a  mile'll  bring  you.  Chaps  at 
your  end  ought  to  see  to  it  that  none  of  the  special 
hands  stray  up  this  way.  It's  not  safe.  Good 
night." 

"  Good-night,"  responded  Cleek  cheerily.  :'  Thank 
you,  sir;"  and,  taking  Dollops's  arm,  swung  of?  in  I  he 
direction  indicated,  just  as  quick  as  his  feet  could 
carry  him. 

They  walked  in  silence  for  a  time,  their  feet  making 
no  sound  in  the  marshy  ground,  when  they  were  well 
out  of  earshot— Cleek  spoke  in  a  low  tone. 

"Narrow  shave,  Dollops!" 

"It  was  that,  sir.  I  could  fair  feel  the  razor 
aclippin'  a  bit  off  me  chin,  so  ter  speak.  'Avin'  .some 
nice  adventures  this  night,  ain't  we,  guv'nor?" 

"We  certainly  are."  Cleek's  voice  was  absent- 
minded,  for  his  thoughts  were  working,  and  already 
he  was  beginning  to  tie  the  broken  threads  of  Hie 
skein  that  he  had  gathered  into  a  rough  cord,  with 
here  and  there  a  gap  that  must — and  should — be 
filled.  It  was  strange  enough,  in  all  conscience. 
Here  were  these  underground  tunnels  leading,  "if 
you  kept  to  the  right,"  from  a  field  out  Saltfleet  way, 
to  the  very  heart  of  the  Fens  themselves.  And  what 
went  on  here  in  these  uninhabited  reaches  of  the 
marshland?  Nothing  that  could  be  seen  by  day 
light,  for  he  had  traversed  every  step  of  them,  and 


In  the  Dark  237 

gained  no  information  for  his  pains.  Therefore 
there  could  be  no  machinery,  or  anything  of  that  sort. 
II 'in.  It  was  a  bit  of  a  facer,  true;  but  of  one  thing 
he  was  certain.  Somehow,  in  some  way,  the  Frozen 
Flames  played  their  part.  That  factory  at  Salt  fleet 
and  the  fishing  boats  and  the  Fens  were  all  linked 
up  in  one  inexplicable  chain,  if  one  could  only  find  the 
key  that  unlocked  it.  And  what  was  a  man  doing 
oui:  there  at  night,  with  a  revolver?  What  business 
was  he  up  to?  And  he  had  said  there  were  two  others 
on  the  look-out,  as  well. 

C'v'ek  pulled  out  a  little  blackened  clay  pipe,  which 
was  part  of  his  make-up  as  Bill  Jones,  and,  plugging 
it  with  tobacco,  began  to  smoke  steadily.  Dollops, 
casting  a  sideways  glance  at  his  master,  knew  what 
this  sign  meant,  and  spoke  never  a  word,  until  they 
had  left  the  Fens  far  behind  them  and  were  well 
on  their  way  toward  the  docks,  and  the  "appoint 
ment"  with  Black  Whiskers  at  twelve  o'clock.  Then : 

"Notice  anything,  Dollops?"  Cleek  asked,  slewing 
round  and  looking  at  the  boy  quizzically. 

"How  do  you  mean,  sir?" 

"Why,  when  you  got  to  the  top  of  those  little  steps 
and  came  out  into  the  Fens." 

"Only  the  Frozen  Flames,  sir.     Why?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  It'll  keep.  Just  a  little  thing  I 
saw  that  led  me  a  long  way  upon  the  road  I'm  trying 
to  travel.  You'll  hear  about  it  later.  Time's  getting 
on,  Dollops,  my  lad.  You're  due  with  your  friend 


238         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Black  Whiskers  in  another  ten  minutes — and  we're 
about  that  from  the  dockyard.  Wonder  if  there'd 
be  any  chance  of  me  lending  a  hand?" 

Dollops  thought  a  moment. 

"You  might  try,  sir — 'twould  do  no  'arm,  anyway," 
he  said  after  a  pause.  "Pertickler  as  you're  my 
mate,  so  ter  speak.  Ought  ter  be  able  to  work  it, 
I  should  think,  .  .  .  Look.  Who's  a-comin' 
now?  If  it  ain't  ole  Black  Whiskers  'im.self!" 

And  Black  Whiskers  it  was,  to  be  sure.  He 
lounged  up  to  them,  hands  in  pockets,  hat  pulled 
well  down  over  his  eyes,  a  sinister,  ugly  figure.  lie 
had  an  "air"— and  it  was  by  no  means  a  pleasant  one. 

"Hullo,  youngster!"  he  called  out  in  a  harsh  voice. 
"Been  seem'  the  country — eh?  Better  fer  you  and 
yer  mate  if  yer  keeps  yer  eyes  well  on  the  ground  in 
this  part  uv  the  world.  Never  meddle  in  someone 
else's  business.  It  don't  pay."  His  voice  lowered 
suddenly,  and  he  jerked  a  thumb  back  over  his 
shoulder.  "Mate  on  the  square  with  you,  I  s'pose? 
Comin'  along  now?" 

"Bet  yer  life  I  am!"  responded  Dollops  heartily, 
giving  him  a  significant  wink.  '"Course  I  ain't  said 
nuffin'  ter  ole  Bill  abaht  what  you  tole  me,  but  I 
know  Vs  a  cute  un.  No  flies  on  ole  Bill,  guv'nor, 
give  yer  me  oath  on  that.  What  abaht  it,  now? 
Shall  us  bring  him  along  too?  Just  as  you  ses, 
guv'nor,  seein'  as  you're  the  boss,  but  Vs  a  strong 
fellow  is  my  mate — and  'is  mouth's  like  a  trap." 


In  the  Dark  239 

Black  Whiskers  switched  round  in  his  slouchy 
walk,  where  he  had  fallen  in  step  beside  Dollops, 
leaving  Cleek  on  the  boy's  right  hand,  and  gave  the 
''mate"  a  searching  look  under  black  brows.  In  the 
darkness,  with  just  a  thread  of  moonlight  to  make 
patterns  upon  the  black  waters  and  etch  out  the  out 
line  of  mast  and  funnel  and  hull  against  the  indigo, 
Cleek  recognized  that  look,  and  set  his  mouth  grimly. 
He'd  seen  it  once  before,  upon  that  night,  when  this 
man  had  stolen  into  his  room  and  tried  to  knife  him. 

"Where're  you  oft'  to,  matey?  With  all  your  fine 
secrets?  I'd  like  to  know!"  he  said  jokingly,  digging 
Dollops  in  the  ribs,  and  giving  a  loud  guffaw.  "Some 
girl,  I  suppose." 

"Somethin'  uv  more  account  than  women,  I  kin 
tell  ye!"  threw  in  Black  Whiskers  roughly.  "'E's 
going  ter  help  me  with  a  little  work — overtime  is 
what  'e'll  get  fer  it.  If  yer  willin'  ter  lend  a  'and, 
overtime  you'll  get,  too.  But  you'll  keep  yer  mouth 
shut,  or  clear.  One  or  t'other.  It's  up  ter  you  ter 
choose." 

Cleek  laughed. 

"Call  me  a  fool,  matey — but  not  a  damned  fool!" 
he  said  pleasantly.  "Bill  Jones  knows  what  side  'is 
bread's  buttered  on,  I  kin  tell  yer!  Soft  job  like  this 
one  wot  we've  nicked  on  ter  ain't  goin'  ter  slip 
through  'is  fingers  fer  a  little  tongue- waggin'.  I'm 
on,  mate." 

"Righto." 


240         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"What's  the  job?" 

"Loadin'  up  boats  for  cargo." 
"Oh!     .     .     .     Contraband,  eh,  matey?" 
"That's  none  uv  yer  business,  my  man,  and  as  long 
as  yon  remembers  that,  you'll  'old  yer  job;  no  more, 
no  less." 

"Beg  pardon,  I'm  sure.  But  I  bin  in  the  same  sort 
uv  thing  meself — out  in  Jamaica.  Used  ter  smuggle 
things  through  the  customs.  Nifty  business  it  were, 
too,  and  I  almost  got  caught  twice.  But  I  slipped  it 
somehow.  Just  loadin'  is  our  game,  then?" 

"Jivl  loadin'/'  responded  Black  Whiskers  sig 
nificantly.  "Ere  we  are.  Now  then,  get  ter  work. 
See  them  tubings  over  there?  Well,  they've  got  to 
be  carried  over  to  that  fishin'-smack  drawn  up  against 
the  dock.  There's  six  of  'em  goin'  tcrnight,  and 
we've  got  ter  be  quick.  Ain't  as  easy  as  it  looks, 
mate,  but — that's  not  your  business  neither.  Get 
ter  work!" 

They  got  to  work  forthwith,  and  turned  to  the 
pile  of  electrical  tubings  which  was  built  up  against 
the  side  of  the  dock  wall,  twice  as  high  as  a  man's 
head.  A  pale  lantern  swung  from  the  edge  of  the 
same  wall,  above  them,  hanging  suspended  from  a 
nail;  another  hung  on  the  opposite  side  from  a  post. 
By  the  light  of  these  two  lamps  they  could  see  a  knot 
of  men  assembled  in  the  centre  of  the  dockyard, 
talking  together  in  low  whispers,  while  down  below, 
at  the  water's  edge,  rocked  a  fleet  of  fishing  boats 


1 7i  the  Dark  241 

awaiting  their  mysterious  cargo.  One  could  hear 
the  men  stirring  restlessly  and  shifting  sail  as  they 
waited  for  the  task  to  begin. 

Then  the  word  was  given  in  a  low,  vibrant  voice, 
and  they  went  to  work. 

"Easy  job  this,  matey,"  whispered  Dollops  as  he 
and  Cleek  advanced  upon  the  stack  of  tubings  and 
each  started  to  lift  one  down.  "I  .  .  .  Gawd's 
truf !  ain  *t  it  'eavy!  Lorlumme!  Now,  wrhat  in 
blazes ?" 

Cleek  put  up  a  warning  finger,  and  shouldered  the 
thing.  Heavy  it  certainly  was,  though  of  such  fine 
metal  that  its  weight  seemed  incredible.  And  when 
one  knew  that  these  things  carried  electric 
wiring.  .  .  .  Or  did  they?  .  .  .  Never  was 
made  an  electric  wire  that  was  as  heavy  as  that. 

Cleek  carried  one1  of  these  tubings  to  the  dock's 
edge,  with  the  aid  of  Dollops  handed  it  over  into 
the  hands  that  were  outstretched  to  receive  it,  and 
went  back  for  another  one.  Back  and  forth  and 
back  and  forth  they  went,  lifting,  carrying,  delivering, 
until  one  boat  was  loaded,  and  another  one  hove  into 
sight  in  its  place.  He  watched  the  first  one's  slow 
progress  out  across  the  murky  waters  for  a  moment, 
making  a  pretense  of  mopping  his  forehead  with  his 
handkerchief  meanwhile.  It  was  loaded  below  the 
water-mark!  It  hung  so  low  in  the  water  that  it 
looked  a  mere  smudge  upon  the  face  of  it,  a  ribbon  of 
sail  flapping  from  its  slender  mast. 


242         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Electrical  tubings,  eh?  Faugh!  a  pretty  story 
that.  .  .  . 

Two  boats  were  filled,  three,  four.  ...  A 
fifth  came  riding  up  under  the  very  nose  of  the  last, 
and  settled  itself  with  a  rattle  of  chains  and  bumping 
of  sides  against,  the  quay.  That,  too,  was  loaded  to 
its  very  edge,  and  took  its  way  slowly  out  beneath 
their  eyes.  The  sixth  took  its  place  after  its 
fellows. 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  sweating  men  ceased  in 
their  work,  and  stood  wiping  their  faces  or  leaning 
against  the  dock  wall,  talking  in  low  whispers. 

Cleek  and  Dollops  stood  at  the  quayside,  listening 
to  the  water  lapping  against  the  iron  girders,  and 
straining  their  eyes  to  catch  a  last  glimpse  of  the 
fleet  of  fishing  boats.  Of  a  sudden  from  out  the 
blackness  others  appeared.  Old  Black  Whiskers 
gave  a  muttered  order,  and  like  a  well-drilled  army 
the  men  were  ready  again,  this  time  flocking  to  the 
side  of  the  quay  as  the  boats  rode  up,  and  waiting  for 
them,  empty-handed.  Cleek  turned  to  the  nearest 
one,  and  spoke  in  a  low-toned  voice. 

"What  now,  matey?     I'm  new  at  this  gyme." 

"Oh — unloadin'.  Usual  thing.  Faulty  gang.'. 
Don't  never  seem  as  though  the  factory  kin  get  the 
proper  gauge  fer  those  tubin's.  All  the  time  I  bin 
'ere — nigh  on  to  two  years— it's  bin  the  same. 
Every  lot  goes  out,  some  comes  back  again  with  a 
complaint.  Funny  thing,  ain't  it?" 


In  tlie  Dark  243 

"Yus,"  responded  Oleek  shortly.  "Damn 
funny."  It  certainly  was.  Unless  ...  he 
sucked  in  his  breath  and  his  lips  pursed  themselves 
up  to  whistle.  But  no  sound  came. 

And  the  work  of  unloading  began. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   WEB   OF   CIRCUMSTANCE 

iOR  a  few  days  there  was  no  more  overtime 
to  be  earned  by  Cleek  or  Dollops,  so  that 
they  were  free  to  spend  their  evening  as  they 
wished,  and  though  the  "Pig  and  Whistle"  got  its  fair 
share  of  their  time — for  the  sake  of  appearances- 
there  were  long  hours  afterward,  between  the  tasi. 
tattered  remnants  of  the  night  and  the  day's  dawning, 
when  they  did  a  vast  amount  of  exploration. 

That  they  made  good  use  of  this  time  was  proved 
by  the  little  note-book  that  rested  in  Clock's  pocket, 
and  in  which  a  rough  chart  of  the  country  and  the 
docks  was  drawn — though  there  were  still  some 
blanks  to  be  filled  in — while  opposite  it  was  a  rude 
outline  of  the  secret  passage  into  which  tlu-y  had 
blundered  three  nights  before. 

"Got  to  explore  that  hole  from  end  to  end,  Dol 
lops,"  said  Cleek  on  the  fourth  evening,  as  they 
struck  off  together  toward  that  gap  in  the  hedge, 
soon  after  the  clock  in  the  village  had  chimed  out  ten, 
and  the  little  bar  of  the  "Pig  and  "Whistle"  was  slowly 
emptying  itself  of  its  habitues,  "I've  the  main  route 
fairly  correct,  I  think,  and  a  rough  idea  of  where 

244 


The  Web  of  Circumstance  245 

those  sacks  stood,  and  where  we  took  to  cover  when 
Black  Whiskers  was  showing  the  master  of  this  under 
world  domain  through  it.  Happen  to  have  learnt  the 
chap's  name  yet?" 

Dollops  nodded. 

"  Yessir.  Brent  it  is,  Jonathan  Brent,  or  so  one  of 
the  men  tells  me.  Says  he's  never  seed  'ini,  though; 
nobody  'ardly  ever  does,  from  all  accounts  'e  give 
me.  Ole  Black  Whiskers  and  our  silent-footed  friend 
Borkins  is  the  main  ones  wot  does  'is  work  for  'im." 

"H'm.  Well,  that's  something  gleaned,  anyway. 
Of  course  we  may  be  able  to  find  out  who  he  really  is, 
but  the  chances  are  small.  Men  like  this  chap  don't 
go  giving  away  anything  more  than  they  can  help. 
They  lie  low  and  let  their  paid  underlings  stand 
the  racket  if  it  happens  to  come  along.  I  kno\v 
the  type.  I've  come  cross  it  before.  Well,  here  we 
are.  Now  for  it — but  this  time  I  happen  to  have 
brought  along  a  revolver." 

lie  crept  through  the  hedge  and  crouching  behind 
it  ran  to  the  spot  where  they  had  found  the  open 
trap-door  upon  that  memorable  occasion  three 
nights  before.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen.  The 
ground  presented  an  absolutely  unbroken  appearance, 
so  far  as  they  could  make  out  in  the  moon's  rays. 

"Clever  devils!"  snapped  out  Cleek,  in  angry 
tribute.  "We'll  have  to  use  artificial  light  after  all; 
but  keep  your  torch  light  on  the  ground.  It  won't  do 
for  any  one  to  spot  us  just  now." 


246         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

For  perhaps  a  moment  or  two  they  explored  the 
ground  inch  by  inch,  crawling  round  in  the  long 
grass  upon  their  hands  and  knees,  until  a  little  tuft 
of  browrn  earth  sticking  up  through  a  piece  of  turf, 
like  the  upturned  corner  of  a  rug,  showed  them  what 
they  were  looking  for.  With  infinite  care  Clock 
lifted  up  the  square  of  turf  and  set  it  upon  one  side. 
The  sight  of  the  flat  dark  surface  of  the  trap-door 
rewarded  them.  He  ran  his  fingers  along  the  two 
sides  of  it,  and  discovered  a  bolt,  shot  this,  and  then 
catching  the  iron  ring  once  more  in  his  hands,  swung 
the  top  upward  and  laid  it  back  upon  the  grass. 

A  minute  more  found  them  once  more  in  the 
cavernous,  breathless  depths.  Cleek  handed  the 
torch  to  Dollops. 

"You  hold  that  while  I  do  a  bit  of  sketching,"  he 
said,  fidgeting  in  his  coat-pocket  for  his  fountain-pen. 
He  then  snapped  open  the  flap  of  the  note-book  and 
began  to  sketch  rapidly  as  they  moved  forward. 
Cleek  was  an  adept  in  drawing  to  scale.  The 
thing  took  shape  as  they  continued  their  progress, 
keeping  this  time  to  the  left  instead  of  to  the  right. 
Cleek  paced  off  the  distance  and  slopped  every 
now  and  then  to  check  up  results. 

The  place  was  as  silent  as  the  grave.  Obviously  no 
one  was  about  here  upon  these  nights  when  there 
was  no  loading  and  unloading  going  on.  In  that,  at 
least,  chance  had  been  a  good  friend  to  them.  They 
were  going  io  make  the  most  of  it.  Through  little 


The  Web  of  Circumstance  247 

runways,  narrower  than  the  main  route,  and  so  low 
that  they  had  to  bend  their  necks  to  get  along  in 
safety,  they  went,  measuring  and  examining.  Every 
few  yards  or  so  they  wrould  come  upon  another  little 
niche,  stacked  high  with  sacks  of  a  similar  hardness 
to  those  others  back  there  at  the  beginning  of  their 
journey.  Cleek  prodded  one  with  his  finger  hesita 
ted,  then  slipping  out  a  penknife,  slit  a  fragment  of 
the  coarse  sacking  and  inserted  his  thumb.  .  . 

He  pulled  it  out  with  a  look  of  astonishment  upon 
his  face. 

'  Hello,  hello!"  he  exclaimed.  "So  that's  it,  is  it? 
Gad!  This  is  the  approved  hiding-place!  Then 
those  tubings —  Dollops,  just  a  little  more  of  this 
wearisome  search,  just  a  few  telephone  calls  to  be 
made,  and  I  belieive  I  shall  have  untied  at  least  one 
part  of  this  strange  riddle.  And  when  that  knot  is 
unfastened,  it  will  surely  lead  me  to  the  rest.  .  .  . 
Go  on,  boy." 

They  went  on,  stepping  carefully,  and  hesitating 
now  and  again  to  listen  for  any  sound  of  alien  foot 
steps.  But  the  place  might  have  been  the  grave  for 
any  sign  of  human  habitation  that  there  was.  They 
had  it  to  themselves  that  night,  and  made  the  most  of 
it. 

For  some  time  they  walked  on,  taking  the  road 
that  most  appealed  to  them,  and  in  the  maze  must 
surely  have  retraced  their  own  footsteps.  Of  a  sud 
den,  however,  they  broke  into  a  sort  of  rough  stone 


248         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

passage,  with  concrete  floor  that  ran  on  for  a  few 
yards  and  ended  at.  a  flight  of  well-made  stone  steps, 
above  which  was  a  square  of  polished  oak,  worm- 
eaten,  heavily-carved,  and  surely  not  of  this  gen 
eration's  make  or  structure. 

"Now,  what  the  dickens.  .  .  .  ?"  began  deck, 
and  stopped,. 

Dollops  surveyed  it  with  his  head  on  one  side. 

"Seems  ter  me,  sir,"  he  began,  after  a  pause, 
"that  this  yere's  the  gcnuyne  article.  "One  of  them 
old  passages  what  people  like  King  Charles  and 
Bloody  Mary  an'  a  few  other  of  them  celebrities  you 
sees  at  Madame  Tussord's  any  day  in  the  week, 
used  to  'ide  in  when  things  were  a-gettin'  too  Vt  for 
'em.  That's  what  this  is." 

"Your  history's  a  bit  rocky,  but  your  ideas  are  all 
right,"  returned  Cleek  with  a  little  smile,  as  he  stood 
looking  up  at  the  square  of  black  oak  above  them.. 
"I  believe  you're  right.  Dollops.  It  must  have 
given  the  later  arrivals  a  big  start  in  that  tunnelling 
business,  or  else  they've  been  at  it,  or  both.  There 
must  be  years'  work  in  this  system  of  passageways. 
It  is  marvelous.  But  if  it's  a  genuine  old  secret  pas 
sage,  those  stairs  will  probably  lead  up  into  a  house, 
and— let's  try  'em.  If  the  house  they  lead  into  is 
the  one  I  think  it  is  .  .  .  Well,  we'll  be  un 
ravelling  the  rest  of  this  riddle  before  the  night  is  on  I !" 

So  saying,  he  fairly  leapt  up  the  little  flight  of 
stone  stairs,  and  then  let  his  fingers  glide  over  the 


The  Web  of  Circumstance  249 

smooth  polished  face  of  the  oak  door,  pushing,  prob 
ing,  pressing  it,  a  frown  puckering  his  brows. 

"If  this  is  a  genuine  old  secret  hiding-place," 
he  remarked,  "then  according  to  all  the  rules  of  the 
game  there  ought  to  be  some  sort  of  a  spring  this  side 
to  open  it,  so  that  the  hidden  man  might  be  able  to 
gel  out  again  when  he  wanted  to.  But  where? 
Faugh!  My  fingers  must  be  losing  their  cunning, 
and  — Ah,  here  it  is!  Bit  of  wood  gives  way  here, 
Dollops.  Just  a  gentle  pressure,  and — here  we  are!" 

And  here  they  were,  indeed,  for  as  he  spoke,  the 
door  slid  back  into  the  flooring  out  of  sight,  and  they 
found  themselves  looking  up  into  a  room  which  was 
lighted  by  a  single  gas-jet,  which  barely  illumined 
it,  but  which,  when  Cleek  poked  his  head  up  above 
the  flooring  and  took  a  casual  survey  of  the  place 
proved  to  be  no  less  a  place  than  the  back  kitchen  of 
Merriton  Towers ! 

He  brought  his  head  down  again  with  a  jerk, 
touched  the  spring  in  the  edge  of  oak -panelling  at 
the  left  of  him,  and  let  the  door  swing  back  across  the 
opening  once  more;  and  not  till  it  had  slipped  into 
place  with  a  little  click  did  he  turn  upon  Dollops. 

"Merriton  Toicers!"  he  ejaculated  finally.  "Mer 
riton  Towers!  Now,  if  young  Merriton  really  is  a 
a  party  to  this  thing  that  is  going  on  down  here  in 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  why — Dash  it,  it's  going  to 
prove  an  even  worse  case  against  him  than  we  knew! 
A  chap  who  plays  an  underhanded  game  like  this 


250         Tlie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flaine 

doesn't  niind  what  lie  walks  over  to  attain  his  ends. 
But  .  .  .  Merriton  Towers  .  .  .  !" 

He  stopped  speaking  suddenly,  sucked  in  his 
breath,  his  face  turned  very  grim.  Dollops  broke 
the  silence  that  fell,  a  tremour  of  excitement  in  his 
low-pitched  voice. 

"  Yus — but  it's  the  back-kitchen,  sir,"  he  threw  out 
eagerly,  like  all  the  rest  of  them  anxious  if  possible 
to  shield  the  man  who  seemed  to  have  won  so  many 
hearts.  "And  the  back-kitchen  don't  spell  Sir 
Nigel,  sir.  It's  Borkins  wot's  at  the  bottom  of  that. 
and— 

"Maybe,  maybe,"  interposed  (leek,  a  trifle  hastily, 
but  the  grim  look  did  not  leave  his  face.  "But  if 
anything  as  curious  as  all  this  affair  turns  up  in  the 
evidence  it  won't  help  the  boy  any,  that  is  a  certainty. 
.  .  .  Merriton  Towers!" 

He  swung  upon  his  heel  and  quickly  retraced  his 
steps,  until  the  little  stone  passageway  was  left  be 
hind  them,  and  a  few  feet  ahead  loomed  up  another 
of  those  queer  turnings,  which  led — who  knew 
where? 

"We'll  take  it  on  chance,"  said  ("leek  as  they 
paused,  while  he  marked  it  in  his  chart, "and  follow 
our  noses.  But  I  confess  I've  had  a  shock.  I  never 
thought — never  even  dreamt  of  Merriton  Towers 
being  connected  with  this  smuggling  or,  whatever  it 
is,  Dollops!  And  if  I  hadn't  been  down  in  that  very 
kitchen  upon  a  voyage  of  discovery  the  other  day, 


The  Web  of  Circumstance  251 

I'd  have  had  more  reason  to  disbelieve  the  evi 
dence  of  ray  own  eyes.  The  light  was  on,  too. 
Lucky  for  us  we  didn't  pop  our  heads  up  at  the 
moment  when  someone  was  there.  But  then  the 
.servants  are  all  gone.  Borkins  is  keeping  the  house 
open  until  after  the  trial.  So  it  wras  Borkins  who 
was  using  that  light,  that's  pretty  obvious;  and  our 
necks  have  been  spared  by  an  inch  or  two  less  than 
1  had  imagined.  We  must  hurry;  time's  short, 
and  there's  a  good  deal  to  be  got  through  this  night, 
I  can  tell  you!" 

"Y^ssir."  said  Dollops,  not  knowing  what  else 
to  say,  for  Cleek  was  keeping  up  a  sort  of  running 
monologue  of  his  ideas  of  the  case.  "Don't  think 
much  uv  this  'ere  passage,  anyway,  do  you?" 

"No — narrower  than  the  rest.  But  it  may  end 
just  where  we  want  to  go.  'Journeys  end  in  lovers' 
meetings'  the  poet  sings,  but  not  this  land  of  a 
journey — no,  not  exactly.  We'll  find  the  hang 
man's  rope  at  the  end  of  this  riddle,  Dollops,  or  I'm 
very  much  mistaken;  and  I've  an  uncomfortable 
idea  as  to  who  will  swing  in  the  noose." 

For  some  time  after  that  they  pressed  on  in  silence. 
Here  and  there  along  the  passage  the  walls  opened 
out  suddenly  into  little  cut-out  places  filled  as  ever 
with  their  built-up  sacks.  Each  time  Clcek  passed 
them  he  chuckled  aloud,  and  then — once  more  his 
face  would  become  grim.  For  some  moments  they 
groped  along  in  the  gloom,  their  heads  bent,  to 


Tlie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

prevent  them  bumping  the  low  mud  ceiling,  their 
lips  silent,  but  in  the  hearts  of  each  a  sort  of  dull 
dread.  Merriton  Towers!  Borkins,  perhaps.  But 
what  if  Borkins  and  Merriton  had  been  working 
hand-in-glove,  and  then,  somehow  or  other,  had  had 
a  split?  That  would  account  for  a  good  deal,  and 
in  particular  the  man's  attitude  toward  his  master. 
Cleek's  brain  ran  on  ahead  of  his  feet,  his 
brows  drew  themselves  into  a  knot,  his  mouth  was 
like  a  thin  line  of  crimson  in  the  granite-like  mask 
of  his  face. 

Of  a  sudden  he  stopped  and  pointed  ahead  of  him. 
Still  another  flight  of  stairs  met  their  eyes,  but  they 
were  of  newer,  more  recent  make,  and  composed  of 
common  deal,  unvarnished  and  mudstained  with  the 
marks  of  many  feet  up  and  down  their  surface. 

Cleek  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  his  face  relaxed. 

"The  end  of  the  journey,  Dollops,"  he  said  softly. 

Then,  without  more  ado,  he  mounted  the  stairs, 
and  laid  his  shoulder  to  the  heavy  door. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

JUSTICE — AND   JUSTIFICATION 

THE  court  room  was  crowded  on  every  side. 
There  was  barely  space  for  another  person 
to  enter  in  comfort,  and  when  the  news  went 
round  in  the  street  that  Sir  Nigel  Merriton,  late  of 
the  army,  was  being  tried  for  his  life,  and  that  things 
were  going  pretty  black  against  him,   all  London 
seemed  to  turn  out  with  a  morbid  curiosity  to  hear 
the  sentence  of  death  passed. 

Petrie,  stationed  at  the  door,  spent  most  of  his 
time  waving  a  white-gloved  hand,  and  shaking  his 
head  until  he  felt  that  it  would  shortly  tumble  off 
his  neck  and  r.oll  away  upon  the  pavement.  Mr., 
Narkom  had  given  him  instructions  that  if  any  one 
of  "any  importance  in  the  affair  in  question"  should 
turn  up,  he  was  to  admit  him,  but  to  be  adamant  in 
every  other  case.  And  so  the  queue  of  morbid- 
minded  women  and  idle  men  grew  long  and  longer, 
and  the  clamour  louder  and  louder,  until  the  tempers 
of  the  police  on  guard  grew  very  short,  and  the 
crowd  was  handled  more  and  more  firmly. 

The  effect  of  this  began  to  tell.  Slowly  it  thinned 
out  and  the  people  turned  once  more  into  the  StrandP. 

253 


2,34         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

sauntering  along  with  their  heads  half  the  time  over 
their  shoulders,  while  Petrie  stood  and  mopped  his 
face  and  wondered  what  had  become  of  Mr.  Cleek, 
or  if  he  had  turned  up  in  one  of  his  many  aliases,  and 
he  hadn't  recognized  him. 

"Like  as  not  that's  what's  happened,"  he  told 
himself,  stuffing  his  thumbs  into  his  policeman's  belt 
and  setting  his  feet  apart.  "But  what  gets  over 
me  is,  not  a  slight  'ave  I  seen  of  young  Dollops.  And 
where  Mr.  Cleek  is.  .  .  .  Well,  that  there 
young  feller  is  bound  to  be,  too.  Case  is  drawin' 
to  a  close,  I  reckon,  by  this  time.  I  wouldn't  be  in 
that  young  lord's  shoes!" 

He  shook  his  head  at  the  thought,  and  fell  to  con 
sidering  the  matter  and  in  a  most  sympathetic  frame 
of  mind  if  the  truth  be  told. 

Ilalf-an-hour  passed,  another  sped  by.  The  crowd 
now  worried  him  very  little,  and  judging  from  one 
or  two  folk  that  drifted  out  of  the  court  room,  with 
rather  pale  faces  and  set  mouths,  as  though  they  had 
heard  something  that  sickened  them,  and  were 
going  to  be  out  of  it  before  the  end  came,  Petrie  began 
to  think  that  that  end  was  approaching  very  near. 

And  he  hadn't  seen  Mr.  Cleek  go  into  the  place, 
or  Dollops  either!  Funny  thing  that.  In  his  phone 
message  that  morning,  Mr.  Cleek  had  said  he  would 
be  at  the  court  sharp  at  one,  and  it  was  half-past  two 
now.  Well,  he  was  sorry  the  guv'nor  hadn't  turned 
up  in  time.  He'd  be  disappointed,  no  doubt,  and 


Justice — and  Justification  255 

Jw>.-'" "  *'; 

after  all  the  telephoning  and  hunting  up  of  direc 
tories  that  he  himself  had  done  personally  that  very 
morning,  Mr.  Cleek  would  be  feeling  rather  "off  rt" 
if  he  turned  up  too  late. 

Petrie  took  a  few  steps  up  and  down,  and  his  eyes 
roamed  the  Strand  leisurely.  He  came  to  a  sudden 
halt,  as  a  red  limousine — the  red  limousine  he  knew 
so  well — whirled  up  to  the  pavement's  edge,  stopped 
in  front  of  him  with  a  grinding  of  brakes,  a  door 
flashed  open,  and  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  sharp  order 
given  in  that  one  unmistakable  voice.  Mr.  ("leek  was 
there,  followed  by  Dollops,  close  at  his  heels,  mid 
looking  as  though  they  had  torn  through  hell  itself  to 
get  there  in  time. 

Petrie  took  a  hurried  step  forward  and  swung  back 
the  big  iron  gate  still  farther. 

"In  time,  Petrie?"  fleck  asked  breathlessly. 

"Just  about,  sir.  Near  shave,  though,  from  what 
I  see  of  the  people  a-comin'  out.  'Eard  the  case  'ad 
gone  against  Sir  Nigel,  sir — poor  chap.  'Ere,  you, 
Dollops— 

But  Dollops  was  gone  in  his  master's  wake,  in  his 
arms  a  huge,  ungainly  bundle  that  looked  like  a 
stove-pipe  wrapped  up  in  brown  paper,  gone  through 
the  court-room  door,  without  so  much  as  passing  the 
time  of  day  with  an  old  pal.  Petrie  felt  distinctly 
hurt  about  it,  and  sauntered  back  to  his  place  with 
his  smile  gone,  while  Cleek,  hurrying  through  the 
crowded  court  room  and  passing,  by  the  sheer  power 


256         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

of  his  name,  the  various  court  officials  who  would 
have  stopped  him,  stopped  only  as  he  reached  the 
space  before  the  judge's  bench.  Already  the  jury 
were  filing  in,  one  by  one,  and  taking  their  seats. 
The  black  cap  lay  beside  Mr.  Justice  Grainger's 
spectacles,  a  sinister  emblem,  having  its  response  in 
the  white-faced  man  who  stood  in  the  dock,  awaiting 
t.he  verdict  upon  his  life. 

Cleek  saw  it  all  in  one  glance,  and  then  spoke. 

"Your  Lordship,"  he  said,  addressing  the  judge, 
who  looked  at  him  with  raised  eyebrows,  "may  I 
address  the  court?"  The  barristers  arose,  scan 
dalized  at  the  interruption,  knowing  not  whether 
advantage  for  prosecution  or  •defence  lay  in  wrhat 
this  man  had  to  say.  The  clerk  of  the  court  stood 
aghast  ready  to  order  the  court  officers  to  eject  the 
interloper  who  dared  interrupt  the  course  of  the 
majestic  law.  All  stood  poised  for  a  breathless 
moment,  held  in  check  by  the  power  of  the  man 
Cleek,  or  by  uncertainty  as  to  the  action  of  the  judge. 

A  tense  pause,  and  then  the  court  broke  the 
silence,  "You  may  speak." 

"Your  Lordship,  may  it  please  the  court,"  said 
Cleek,  "I  have  evidence  here  which  wrill  save  this 
man's  life.  I»demand  to  show  it  to  the  court." 

The  barristers,  held  in  check  by  the  stern  practice 
of  the  English  law,  which,  unlike  American  practice 
does  not  allow  counsel  to  becloud  the  issue  wilh 
objection  and  technical  argument,  remained  motion- 


Justice — and  Justification  257 

less.  They  knew  Cleek,  and  knew  that  here  was  the 
crisis  of  the  case  they  had  presented  so  learnedly. 

"This  is  an  unusual  occurrence,  sir,"  at  last  spoke 
the  judge,  "and  you  are  distinctly  late.  The  jury 
lias  returned  and  the  foreman  is  about  to  pronounce 
the  verdict.  What  is  it  you  have  to  say,  sir?  " 

"Your  Lordship,  it  is  simply  this."  Cleek  threw 
back  his  head.  "The  prisoner  at  bar—  lie 
pointed  to  Merriton.  who  at  the  first  sound  o1' 
Cleek's  voice  had  spun  round,  a  sudden  hope  finding 
birth  in  his  dull  eyes,  "  is  innocent!  I  have  absolute 
proof.  Also—  lie  switched  round  upon  his  heel 
and  surveyed  the  court  room,  "I  beg  of  your  Lord 
ship  that  you  will  immediately  give  orders  for  no 
person  to  leave  this  court.  The  instigator  of  the 
crime  is  before  my  eyes.  Perhaps  you  do  not  know 
me,  but  I  have  been  at  work  upon  this  case  for  some 
time,  and  am  a  colleague  of  Mr.  Narkom  of  Scotland 
Yard.  My  name  is — Cleek — Hamilton  Cleek.  T 
have  your  permission  to  continue?" 

A  murmur  went  up  round  the  crowded  court  room. 
The  judge  nodded.  He  needed  no  introduction  to 
Cleek. 

"The  gentlemen  of  the  jury  will  be  seated," 
declared  the  court,  "the  clerk  will  call  Hamilton 
Cleek  as  a  witness." 

This  formality  accomplished,  the  judge  indicated 
that  he,  himself,  would  question  this  crucial  eleventh- 
hour  witness. 


258         Tlie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"Mr.  Cleek,"  he  began,  "you  say  this  man  is 
innocent.  We  will  hear  your  story." 

Cleek  motioned  to  Dollops,  who  stood  at  the  back 
of  the  court,  and  instantly  the  lad  pushed  his  way 
through  the  crowd  to  his  master's  side,  carrying  the 
long,  ungainly  burden  in  his  arms.  Meanwhile,  at 
the  back  of  the  room  a  commotion  had  occurred. 
The  magic  name  of  that  most  magical  of  men- 
Hamilton  Cleek,  detective — had  wrought  what 
(•leek  had  known  it  would.  Someone  was  pushing 
for  the  door  with  all  the  strength  that  was  in  him, 
but  already  the  key  had  turned,  and  Hammond,  as 
guardian,  held  up  his  hand. 

Cleek  knew — but  for  the  time  said  nothing— 
and  the  crowd  had  hidden  whoever  it  was  from  the 
common  view.  He  simply  motioned  Dollops  to  lay 
his  burden  upon  the  table,  and  then  spoke  once  more. 

"M'  Lud,"  he  said  clearly,  "may  I  ask  a  favour  of 
the  court?  I  should  be  obliged  if  you  would  call 
every  witness  in  this  matter  here — simultaneously. 
Set  them  out  in  a  row,  if  you  will,  but  call  them 
now.  .  .  .  Thanks." 

The  judge  motioned  to  the  clerk,  and  through  the 
hushed  silence  of  the  court  the  dull  voice  droned  out: 
"Anthony  West,  William  Borkins,  Lester  Stark, 
Gustave  Brellier,  Miss  Antoinette  Brellier,  Doctor 
Bartholomew.  .  .  ."  And  so  on  through  the  whole 
list.  As  each  name  was  called  the  owner  of  it  came 
forward  and  stood  in  front  of  the  judge's  high  desk. 


Justice — and  Justification  259 

"A  most  unusual  proceeding,  sir,"  said  that 
worthy,  again  settling  the  spectacles  upon  his  nose 
and  frowning  down  at  Cleek;  "but,  knowing  who 
you  are " 

"I  appreciate  you  Lordship's  kindness.  Now 
then,  all  there?"  Cleek  whirled  suddenly,  and 
surveyed  the  strange  line.  "That's  good.  And  at 
least  every  one  of  them  is  here.  No  chance  of 
slipping  away  now.  Now  for  it." 

He  turned  back  to  the  table  with  something  of 
suppressed  eagerness  in  his  movements,  and  a  low 
murmur  of  excitement  went  up  round  the  crowded 
courtroom.  Rapidly  he  tore  off  the  wrappings  from 
the  long,  snake-like  bundle,  and  held  one  of  the  ob 
jects  up  to  view. 

"Allow  me  to  draw  your  attention  to  this,"  he 
said,  in  a  loud,  clear  voice,  every  note  of  which 
carried  to  the  back  of  the  long  room.  "This,  as  you 
possibly  know,  sir,  is  a  piece  of  electric  tubing  made 
for  the  express  purpose  of  conveying  safely  delicate 
electric  wirings  that  are  used  for  installations,  so 
that  they  may  not  be  damaged  in  transit  from  the 
factory  to — the  agent  who  sells  them.  You  would 
like  to  see  the  wirings,  I  know  For  answer  he 

whipped  open  the  joints  of  one  of  the  tubes,  set  it 
upon  end,  and — from  inside  the  narrow  casing  came 
a  perfect  shower  of  golden  sovereigns  clattering  to 
the  floor  and  across  the  table  in  front  of  the  aston 
ished  clerk's  eyes. 


260         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

The  judge  sat  up  suddenly  and  rubbed  his  eyes. 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  he  began,  and  then  sub 
sided  into  silence.  The  eyes  of  young  Sir  Nigel 
Merriton  nearly  leapt  from  their  sockets  with  aston 
ishment;  and  every  man  in  the  crowd  was  gaping. 

Cleek  laughed. 

''Rather  of  a  surprise,  I  must  admit;  isn't  it?"  he 
said,  with  a  slight  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "And  no 
doubt  you're  wondering  what  all  this  has  to  do  with 
the  case  in  hand.  Well,  that'll  come  along  all  in 
good  time.  Golden  sovereigns,  you  see,  carefully 
stacked  up  to  fill  the  little  tubing  to  its  capacity — 
and  thousands  of  'eni  done  the  same,  too!  There's 
a  perfect  fortune  down  there  in  that  factory  a  I 
Saltfleet!  Mr.  Narkom,"  he  turned  round  and 
surveyed  the  Superintendent  with  mirthful  eyes, 
*'what  about  these  bank  robberies  now,  eh?  I  told 
you  something  would  crop  up.  You  see  it  has. 
We've  discovered  the  hiding-place  of  the  gold — and 
the  prime  leader  in  the  whole  distressing  affair. 
The  rest  ought  to  be  easy."  He  whipped  round 
suddenly  toward  the  line  of  witnesses,  letting  his 
eyes  travel  over  each  face  in  turn;  past  Tony  West's 
reddened  countenance,  past  Dr.  Bartholomew's 
pale  intensity,  past  Borkins,  standing  very  straight 
and  white  and  frightened-looking.  Then,  of  a  sud 
den  he  leapt  forward,  his  hand  clamped  down  upon 
someone's  shoulder,  and  his  voice  exclaimed  trium 
phantly  : 


Justice — and  Justification  281 

"And  here  the  beauty  is!'* 

Then,  before  the  astonished  eyes  of  the  crowd  of 
spectators  stood  Mr.  Gustavc  Brellier,  writhing  and 
twisting  in  the  clutch  of  the  firm  fingers  and  spitting 
forth  fury  in  a  Flemish  patois  that  would  have 
struck  Cleek  dead  on  the  spot— if  words  could  kill. 

A  sudden  din  arose.  People  pressed  forward,  the 
better  to  see  and  hear,  exclaiming  loudly,  condemn 
ing,  criticising.  The  judge's  frail  old  hand  brought 
silence  at  last,  and  Antoinette  Brellier  came  forward 
from  her  place  and  clutched  Cleek  by  the  arm. 

''It  cannot  be,  Mr. — -deck!"  she  said  piteously. 
''1  tell  you  my  uncle  is  the  best  of  men,  truly!  He 
could  never  have  done  this  thing  that  you  accuse  him 
of — and— 

"And  the  worst  of  devils!  That  I  can  thoroughly 
endorse,  my  dear  young  lady,"  returned  Cleek  with 
a  grim  laugh.  "I  am  sorry  for  you — very.  But  at 
least  you  will  have  consolation  in  your  future  hus 
band's  release.  That  should  compensate  you. 
Here,  officer,  take  hold  of  this  man.  We'll  get  down 
to  brass  tacks  now.  Take  hold  of  him,  and  hold  him 
fast,  for  a  more  slippery  snake  never  was  created. 
All  right,  Sir  Nigel;  it  is  all  right,  lad.  Sit  down. 
This  is  going  to  be  a  long  story,  but  it's  got  to  be 
told.  Fetch  chairs  for  the  witnesses,  constable. 
And  don't  let  any  of  'em  go — yet.  I  want  'em  to 
hear  this  thing  through." 

In  his  quick,  easy  manner  he  seemed  suddenly  to 


The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

have  taken  command  of  the  court.  And,  knowing 
that  he  was  Hamilton  Cleck,  and  that  Cleek  would 
use  his  own  methods,  or  none,  Mr.  Justice  Grainger 
took  the  wisest  course,  and — let  him  alone. 

When  all  was  in  readiness,  Cleek  settled  down  to 
the  story.  He  was  the  only  man  left  standing,  a 
straight  slim  figure,  full  of  that  controlled  power  and 
energy  that  is  so  often  possessed  by  a  small  but 
perfect  machine.  He  bowed  to  the  judge  with 
something  of  the  theatrical  in  his  manner,  and  then 
rested  one  hand  upon  the  clerk's  table. 

"Now,  naturally,  you  are  wanting  to  hear  the 
story,"  he  said  briskly,  "and  I'll  make  it  as  brief  as 
possible.  But  I  wrarn  you  there's  a  good  deal  to  be 
told,  and  afterward  there'll  be  work  for  Scotland 
Yard,  more  work  than  perhaps  they'll  care  about ; 
but  that  is  another  story.  To  begin  with,  the  jury, 
rriy  lord,  was  undoubtedly,  from  all  signs,  about  to 
convict  the  prisoner  upon  a  charge  of  murder— a 
murder  of  which  he  was  entirely  innocent.  You 
have  heard  Merriton's  story.  Believe  me,  every 
word  of  it  is  true — circumstantial  evidence  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding. 

"In  the  first  place,  Dacre  Wynne  was  shot  through 
the  temple  at  the  instigation  of  thai  man  there,"  he 
pointed  to  Erellier,  standing  pale  and  still  between 
two  constables,  "foully  shot,  as  many  others  had 
been  similarly  done  to  death,  because  they  had  ven 
tured  forth  across  the  Fens  at  night,  and  were  likely 


Justice — and  Justification  263 

to  investigate  this  man's  charming  little  midnight 
movements,  further  than  he  cared  about.  To 
creatures  of  his  like  human  life  is  nothing  compared 
\o  what  it  can  produce.  Men  and  women  are  a 
means  to  an  end,  and  that  end,  the  furtherance  of 
his  own  wealth,  his  own  future.  The  epitome  of 
prehistoric  selfishness,  is  it  not?  Club  the  next 
man  that  comes  along,  and  steal  from  his  dead  body 
all  that  he  has  worked  for.  Oh,  a  pretty  sort  of  a 
tale  this  is,  I  promise  you! 

''What's  that,  my  lord?  What  has  the  Frozen 
Flame  to  do  with  all  this?  Why,  the  answer  to  that 
is  as  simple  as  A.  B.  C.  The  Frozen  Flames,  or  that 
most  natural  of  phenomena,  marsh-gas — of  which  I 
won't  weary  you  with  an  explanation—arose  from 
that  part  of  the  Fens  where  the  rotting  vegetation 
was  at  its  worst.  What  more  natural,  then,  than 
that  this  human  fiend  should  endeavour  to  shape 
even  this  thing  to  his  own  ends?  The  villagers  had 
always  been  superstitious  of  these  lights,  but  their 
notice  had  never  been  particularly  called  to  them 
before  the  story  of  the  Frozen  Flames  had  been 
carefully  spread  from  mouth  to  mouth  by  Brellier's 
tools. 

"Then  one  man,  braver  than  the  rest,  ventured 
forth — and  never  came  back.  The  story  gained 
credence,  even  with  the  more  educated  few. 
Another,  unwilling  to  conform  to  public  opinion,  did 
likewise.  And  he,  too,  went  into  the  great  unknown. 


264         TJie  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

The  list  of  Brellier's  victims — supposed,  of  course,  to 
be  burnt  up  by  the  Frozen  Flames— grew  fairly 
lengthy  in  the  four  years  that  he  has  been  using 
them  as  a  screen  for  his  underhanded  work.  A 
guard — and  I've  seen  one  of  the  men  myself  during  a 
little  midnight  encounter  that  I  had  with  him — went 
wandering  over  thai  part  of  the  district  armed  will)  a 
revolver.  The  first  sight  of  a  stranger  caused  him 
to  use  liis  weapon.  Meanwhile,  behind  the  screen 
of  the  lights  the  bank  robbers  were  bringing  in 
their  gold  by  motor  and  hiding  the  sacks  down  in  a 
network  of  underground  passageways  that  I  also 
discovered — and  traversed.  They  ran,  by  deviou.-.? 
ways,  both  to  a  field  in  Saltfleet  conveniently  near 
the  factory,  and  by  another  route  up  to  the  back 
kitchen  of  Merriton  Towers. 

"You'll  admit  that,  when  I  discovered  this  to  be 
the  case,  I  felt  pretty  uneasy  about  Sir  NiY-.  i's 
innocence.  But  a  still  further  search  brought  to 
light  another  passage,  which  ran  straight  into  I  he 
study  of  Withersby  Hall,  occupied  by  the  Brelliers, 
and  was  hidden  under  the  square  rug  in  front  of  the 
fireplace.  A  nice  convenient  little  spot  for  our 
friend  here  to  carry  on  his  good  work.  Just  a  few 
words  to  say  that  he  didn't  want  to  be  disturbed  in 
his  study,  a  locked  door,  a  rug  moved,  and — there 
you  are!  lie  was  free  from  all  prying  eyes  to  in 
vestigate  the  way  things  were  going,  and  to  person 
ally  supervise  the  hiding  of  the  gold.  While  outside 


Justice — and  Justification 

upon  the  Fens  men  were  being  killed  like  rats,  be 
cause  one  or  two  of  them  chose  to  use  their  intelli 
gence,  and  wanted  to  find  out  what  the  flames 
really  were.  They  found  out  all  right,  poor  devils, 
and  their  widows  waited  for  them  in  vain. 

"And  what  does  he  do  with  all  this  gold,  you  ask? 
\Yhy,  ship  it,  by  using  an  electrical  factory  where  ho 
makes  tubings  and  fittings — and  a  good  deal  of 
mischief,  to  boot.  The  sovereigns  are  hidden  as 
you  have  seen,  and  are  shipped  out  at  night  in 
fishing  boats,  loaded  below  the  water  mark — I've 
helped  with  the  loading  myself,  so  I  know — en 
route  for  Belgium,  where  his  equally  creditable 
brother,  Adolph,  receives  the  tubes  and  invariably 
ships  them  back  as  being  of  the  wrong  gauge.  Look 
here —  He  stopped  speaking  for  a  moment  and, 

stepping  forward,  lifted  up  another  tubing  from  the 
table,  and  unfastened  it  at  one  of  the  joints.  Then 
he  held  it  up  for  all  to  see. 

"See  that  stuff  in  there?  That's  tungsten. 
Perhaps  you  don't  all  know  what  tungsten  is.  Well, 
it's  a  valuable  commodity  that  is  mined  from  the 
earth,  and  which  is  used  expressly  in  the  making  of 
electric  lamps.  Our  good  friend  Adolph,  like  his 
brother,  has  the  same  twist  of  brain.  Instead  of 
keeping  the  tubes,  he  returns  them  with  the  rather 
thin  excuse  that  they  are  of  the  wrong  gauge,  and 
fills  them  with  this  tungsten,  from  the  famous 
tungsten  mines  for  which  Belgium  holds  first  place  in 


266        The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

the  world.  And  so  the  stuff  is  shipped  in  absolutely 
free  of  duty,  while  our  friend  here  unloads  it,  sup 
plies  the  raw  material  to  one  or  two  firms  in  town, 
trading  under  the  name  of  Jonathan  Brent  (you  see 
I've  got  the  whole  facts,  Brellier),  and  uses  some 
himself  for  this  factory,  which  is  the  'blind'  for  his 
other  trading  ideas.  Very  clever,  isn't  it?  " 

The  judge  nodded. 

"I  thought  you  would  agree  so,  my  Lord.  Even 
crime  can  have  its  clever  side,  and  more  often  than 
not  the  criminal  brain  is  the  cleverest  which  the 
world  produces. 

"Where  was  I?  Ah,  yes!  The  shipping  of  the 
stuff  to  Belgium.  You  see,  Brellier's  clever  there. 
He  knows  that  the  sudden  appearance  of  all 
this  gold  at  his  own  bank  would  arouse  suspicions, 
especially  as  the  robberies  have  been  so  frequent,  so 
he  determines  that  it  is  safer  out  of  the  country,  and 
as  the  exchange  of  British,  gold  is  high,  he  makes 
money  that  way.  Turns  his  hand  to  everything,  in 
fact."  He  laughed.  "Bui  now  we're  turning  our 
hands  to  him,  and  the  Law  will  have  its  toll,  penny 
for  penny,  life  for  life.  You've  come  to  the  end  of 
your  resources,  Brellier,  when  you  engaged  those  two 
strange  workmen.  Or,  better  still,  your  accomplice 
did  it  for  you.  You  didn't  know  they  were  Cleek 
and  his  man,  did  you?  You  didn't  know  that  on 
that  second  night  after  we'd  worked  there  at  the 
factory  for  you,  we  investigated  that  secret  passage 


Justice — and  Justification  267 

In  the  field  outside  Saltfleet  Road?  You  didn't 
know  that  while  you  walked  down  that  passage  in 
the  darkness  with  your  man  Jim  Dobbs— -or  'Dirty 
Jim/  to  give  him  the  sobriquet  by  which  he  is  known 
among  your  employees — that  we  were  hidden  against 
the  wall  opposite  to  that  first  little  niche  where  the 
bags  of  sovereigns  stood,  and  that — though  I  hadn't 
seen  you — something  in  your  voice  struck  a  note  of 
familiarity  in  my  memory?  You  didn't  know  that, 
then?  Well,  perhaps  it's  just  as  well,  because  I 
might  not  be  here  now  to  tell  this  story,  and  to  hand 
you  over  to  justice." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  SOLVING  OF  THE  RIDDLE 

FOR  the  sake  of  le  bon  dieu,  man,  cease  your 
cruel  mockery!"  said  Brellier,  suddenly,  in 
a  husky  voice,  as  the  clerk  rose  to  quell  the 
interrupted  flow  of  oratory,  and  the  court  banged 
his  mace  for  quiet. 

"You  didn't  think  of  the  cruel  mockery  of  God's 
good  world,  which  you  were  helping  so  successfully 
to  ruin!"  continued  the  detective,  speaking  to  the 
court  but  at  Brellier,  each  word  pointed  as  a  barb, 
each  pause  more  pregnant  with  scorn  than  the  spoken 
words  had  been.  "You  didn't  think  of  that,  did 
you?  Oh,  no!  You  gave  no  thought  to  the  ruined 
home  and  the  weeping  wife,  the  broken-hearted 
mother  and  the  fatherless  child.  That  was  outside 
your  reckoning  altogether.  And,  if  hearsay  be  true 
(and  in  this  case  I  believe  it  is)  you  even  went  so  far 
as  to  kill  a  defenceless  woman  who  had  been  brave 
enough  to  wander  out  across  that  particular  part 
of  the  Fens  just  to  see  what  those  flames  really 
were.  And  yet, — your  lordship,  this  man  howls  for 
mercy." 

He  paused  a  moment  and  passed  a  hand  wearily 

268 


The  Solving  of  the  Riddle  269 

over  his  forehead.  The  telling  of  the  tale  was  not 
easy,  and  the  expression  of  'Toinette  Brellier's  tear- 
Tiiisted  eyes  added  to  the  difficulty  of  it.  But  he 
knew  he  must  spare  no  detail ;  in  fairness  to  the  man 
who  stood  in  the  dock,  in  fairness  to  the  Law  lie 
served,  and  in  whose  service  lie  had  unravelled  this 
riddle  which  at  first  had  seemed  so  inexplicable. 

Then  the  judge  spoke. 

"The  court  must  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Cleek," 
he  said  in  his  fine,  metallic  voice,  "upon  the  very  ex 
cellent  and  intricate  work  you  have  done  on  this  case. 
Believe  me.  the  Law  appreciates  it,  and  I,  as  one  of 
its  humble  exponents,  must  add  my  admiration  to  the 
rest.  Permit  me,  however,  to  ask  one  or  i  ro 
questions.  In  the  first  place,  before  we  proceed 
further  with  the  case,  I  should  like  you  to  give  me  any 
explanation  that  you  can  relative  to  the  matter  of 
what  the  prisoner  here  has  told  us  with  regard  to 
the  story  of  the  Frozen  Flame.  This  gentleman  has 
said  that  the  story  goes  that  whenever  a  new  viciim 
had  been  claimed  by  the  flames,  that  he  completely 
vanishes,  and  that  another  flame  appears  in  amongst 
its  fellows.  The  prisoner  has  declared  this  to  be 
irue;  in  fact,  has  actually  sworn  upon  oath,  that  he 
has  seen  this  thing  with  his  own  eyes  the  night  that 
Dacre  Wynne  was  killed.  I  confess  that  upon  hear 
ing  this,  I  had  my  strong  suspicions  of  his  veracity. 
Can  you  explain  it  any  clearer?" 

Cleek  smiled  a  trifle  whimsicallv,  then  he  nodded. 


270         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

"I  can.  Shortly  after  I  made  my  discovery  of 
the  secret  passage  that  led  out  upon  the  Fens — the 
entrance  to  it,  by  the  way,  was  marked  by  a  patch 
of  charred  grass  about  the  size  of  a  small  round  table 
(you  remember,  Dollops,  I  asked  you  if  you  noticed 
anything  then?),  that  lifted  up,  if  cue  had  keen 
enough  eyes  to  discover  it,  and  revealed  the  trap 
door  beneath — Dollops  and  I  sel  out  on  another 
tour  of  investigation.  We  were  determined  to  take  a 
sporting  chance  on  being  winged  by  Ihe  watchful 
guards  and  have  a  look  round  behind,  those  flames 
for  ourselves.  We  did  this.  It  happened  thai  we 
slipped  the  guard  unobserved,  having  knowledge,  you 
see,  of  at  least  part  of  the  whole  diabolical  scheme, 
and  getting  within  range  of  the  flames  without  dis 
covery,  or,  for  that  matter,  seeing  any  one  about,  we 
got  down  on  our  hands  and  knees  and  dug  into  the 
earth  with  our  penknives." 

"What  suggested  this  plan  to  you?" 

("leek  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Why,  I  had  a  theory,  you  see.  And,  like  you,  I 
wanted  to  find  out  if  Merriton  were  telling  the  truth 
about  that  other  light  he  had  seen  or  not.  This 
was  the  only  way.  Marsh-gas  was  there  in  plenty, 
though  there  is  no  heat  from  the  tiny  flames,  as  you 
know,  from  which  fact,  no  doubt,  our  frier. d  Brellier 
derived  the  very  theatrical  name  for  them,  but  the 
light  of  which  Merriton  spoke  I  took  to  be  something 
bigger  than  that.  And  I  had  noticed,  too,  that  here 


The  Solving  of  the  Riddle  271 

and  there  among  the  flames  danced  brilliant  patches 
that  seemed,  well — more  than  natural.  So  our  pen 
knives  did  the  trick.  Dollops  was  digging,  when 
something  suddenly  exploded,  and  shot  up  into  our 
faces  with  a  volume  of  gassy  smoke.  We  sprang 
back,  throwing  our  arms  up  to  shield  our  eyes,  and 
after  the  fumes  had  subsided  returned  to  our  task. 
The  penknife  had  struck  a  bladder  filled  with  gas, 
which,  sunk  into  the  ground,  produced  the  larger 
lights,  one  of  which  Sir  Nigel  had  seen  upon  the 
night  that  Wynne  disappeared.  Even  more  clever, 
isn't  it?  I  wonder  whose  idea  it  originally  was." 

He  spun  round  slowly  upon  his  heel  and  faced 
the  line  of  seated  witnesses.  His  eyes  once  more 
travelled  over  the  group,  face  to  face,  eye  to  eye, 
until  he  paused  suddenly  and  pointed  at  Borkins's 
chalk-white  countenance. 

"That's  the  man  who  probably  did  the  job,"  he 
said  casually.  "Brellier's  righthand  man,  that. 
With  a  brain  that  might  have  been  used  for  other 
and  better  things." 

The  judge  leaned  forward  upon  his  folded  elbows, 
pointing  his  pen  in  Borkins's  direction. 

"Then  you  say  this  man  is  part  and  parcel  of  the 
scheme,  Mr.  Cieek?"  he  queried. 

"I  do.  And  a  very  big  part,  too.  But,  let  me 
qualify  that  statement  by  saying  that  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  Borkins's  desire  for  revenge  upon  the  man 
he  served,  this  whole  ghastly  affair  would  probably 


272         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

never  have  been  revealed.  Wynne  would  liave 
vanished  in  the  ordinary  way,  as  Collins  vanished 
afterward,  and  the  superstitious  horror  would  have 
gone  on  until  there  was  not  one  person  left  in  the 
village  of  Fetch  worth  who  would  have  dared  to  ven 
ture  an  investigation  of  the  flames.  Then  the  work 
at  the  factory  would  have  continued,  with  a  possibly 
curtailed  pay-roll.  No  need  for  high-handed  pirates 
armed  with  revolvers  then.  That  was  the  end  the 
arch-fiend  was  working  for.  The  end  that  never 
came." 

"H'm.  And  may  I  ask  how  you  discovered  all 
this,  before  going  into  the  case  of  Borkins?"  put  in 
the  judge. 

Cleek  bowed. 

"Certainly,"  he  returned.  "That  is  the  legal 
right.  But  I  can  vouch  for  my  evidence,  my  lord. 
I  received  it,  you  see,  at  first-hand.  This  man 
Borkins  engaged  both  the  lad  Dollops  and  myself 
as  new  hands  for  the  factory.  We  therefore  had 
every  opportunity  of  looking  into  the  matter  per 
sonally." 

"  Gawdamercy !  I  never  did ! "  ejaculated  Borkins, 
at  this  juncture,  his  face  the  colour  of  newly-baked 
bread.  "You're  a  liar — that's  what  you  are!  A 
drorin'  an  innocent  man  into  the  beastly  affair.  I 
never  engaged  the  likes  of  you!" 

"Didn't  you?"  Cleek  laughed  soundlessly.  "Look 
here.  Remember  the  man  Bill  Jones,  and  his  little 


The  Solving  of  the  Riddle  273 

pal  Sammie  Robinson,  from  Jamaica?"  He  writhed 
his  features  for  a  moment,  slipped  his  hand  into  his 
pocket,  and  producing  the  black  moustache  that  had 
been  Dollops 's  envy  and  admiration,  stuck  it  upon 
his  upper  lip,  pulled  out  a  check  cap  from  the  other 
pocket,  drew  that  upon  his  head,  and  peered  at 
Borkins  under  the  peak  of  it.  "What-o,  matey'/' 
he  remarked  in  a  harsh  cockney  voice. 

"Merciful  'Eavens!"  gasped  out  that  worthy, 
covering  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  one  more  incredul 
ous  witness  of  Cleek's  greatest  gift.  "Bill  Jones  it 
is!  Gawd!  are  you  a  devil?" 

''No,  just  an  ordinary  man,  my  dear  friend.  But 
you  remember  now,  eh?  Well,  that  does  away  with 
the  need  of  the  moustache,  then."  The  clerk  of  the 
court,  only  too  familiar  with  Cleek's  disregard  of  legal 
formality,  frowned  at  this  violation  of  dignity  and 
raised  his  mace  to  rap  for  order  and  possibly  to  rep 
rimand  deck  for  his  theatrical  conduct  but  at  that 
moment  the  detective  pulled  off  the  cap  and  mous 
tache  as  though  well  pleased  with  his  performance. 
Cleek  turned  once  more  to  the  judge. 

"My  lord,"  he  said  serenely,  "you  have  seen  the 
man  Bill  Jones,  and  the  impersonator  of  Sammie 
Robinson  is  there,"  he  pointed  to  Dollops.  "Well, 
this  man  Borkins — or  Piggott,  as  he  calls  himself 
when  doing  his  'private  work' — engaged  Dollops 
and  me,  in  place  of  two  hands  in  the  factory  who  had 
been  given  to  too  much  tongue-wagging,  and  in  con- 


274         The  Riddle  of  ike  Frozen  Flame 

sequence  had  met  with  prompt  punishment,  Cod 
alone  knows  what  it  was!  We  worked  there  for 
something  just  under  a  fortnight.  Dollops,  with 
liis  usual  knack  for  making  friends  in  the  right  direc 
tion,  chummed  up  to  one  of  the  men — whom  I  have 
already  named — Jim  Dobbs.  lie  finally  asked  him 
to  come  and  help  with  the  loading  up  of  the  boats, 
and  gave  him  the  chance  of  making  a  little  overtime 
by  simply  keeping  his  mouth  shut  as  to  what  went 
on.  I  managed  to  get  on  the  job  too,  and  we  did 
it  three  times  in  that  fortnight — and  a  jolly  difficult 
task  we  found  it,  I  don't  mind  saying.  But  I  felt 
that  evidence  was  necessary,  and  while  in  the  employ 
of  'the  master'  we  carried  on  many  investigations. 
And  still  in  his  service  I  made  this  rough  map  of  the 
varied  turnings  of  the  secret  passage,  and  the  places 
to  which  they  led.  You  can  get  a  better  idea  of  the 
ground  if  you  glance  at  it."  lie  handed  it  up  to  the 
high  desk,  and  paused  a  moment  as  the  judge  sur 
veyed  it  through  his  spectacles.  "The  passage  at 
Merriton  Towers,  and  also  at  Withersby  Hall — so 
conveniently  placed  near  that  particular  part  of  the 
Fens,  and  therefore  chosen  by  Brellier  for  his  work- 
are  both  of  ancient  origin,  dating  back,  I  should  say, 
to  the  time  of  the  civil  war. 

"Whose  idea  it  was  to  connect  the  two  passages 
up  I  could  not  say,  or  when  Borkins  got  into  the  pay 
of  Brellier  and  played  false  to  a  family  that  he  had 
served  for  twenty  years.  But  the  fact  remains. 


The  Solving  of  the  Riddle  275 

The  two  passages  are  linked  up,  and  then  continued 
at  great  labour  in  another  direction  to  that  field 
which  lies  oil'  the  Saltfleet  Road  and  just  at  the  back 
of  the  factory.  And  thus  was  made  n  convenient 
little  subway  for  the  carrying  on  of  nefarious  trans 
actions  of  tiie  kind  which  we  have  discovered." 

"And  how  did  you  discover  that  Brellier  was  the 
'Master'  in  question?"  put  in  the  judge  at  this 
juncture. 

"He  happened  to  come  to  the  factory  one  day 
while  we  were  at  work  upon  our  machines.  Someone 
said,  'Crickey!  'Ere's  the  Master!  Funny  for  'iin, 
to  be  prowlin'  round  at  this  hour  of  the  day— night's 
more  to  'is  liki:iY  I  could  hardly  contain  myself 
when  I  saw  who  it  was  even  though  I  had  already 
discovered  the  passage  to  Withersby  Hall.  I  had 
not  yet,  realized  that  'Jonathan  Brent'  and  Brellier 
were  one  and  the  same,  though  I  discovered  that  the 
former  had  a  perfectly  legitimate  office  in  London  in 
Leadenhall  Street.  But  when  I  saw  him  I  knew. 
After  that  I  wasted  no  time.  Since  then  we've  been 
having  a  pretty  scramble  to  get  safely  away  without 
giving  any  clues  to  the  other  men,  and  to  put  Scot 
land  Yard  upon  their  track.  They're  down  there  now, 
and  have  got  every  man  of  'em  I  dare  swear  (and  I 
hope  they  are  keeping  my  friend  Black  Whiskers  for 
me  to  deal  with).  That  is  the  cause  of  my  lateness 
at  the  hearing  of  the  case.  You  can  fully  under 
stand  how  impossible  it  was  to  be  here  any  earlier." 


276         The  Riddle  of  tJw  Frozen  Flame 

The  judge  nodded.  "Your  statement  against 
this  man  Borkins ?" 

"Is  as  strong  a  one  as  ever  was  made,"  said  Clcek. 
"It  was  Borkins  who — in  a  fit  of  malicious  rage,  no 
doubt— conceived  the  idea  of  interfering  with  his 
master's  work  to  the  extent  of  inventing  the  means 
to  have  Sir  Nigel  Merriton  wrongly  eonvieted  of  the 
murder  of  Dacre  Wynne.  You  have  seen  the 
revolver,  the  peculiar  make  of  which  caused  it  to  be 
the  chief  evidence  in  this  gruesome  tragedy.  Here  is 
the  genuine  one." 

He  drew  the  little  thing  from  his  pocket,  and 
reaching  up  placed  it  in  the  judge's  outstretched 
hand.  That  gentleman  gave  a  gasp  as  he  laid  eyes 
upon  it. 

"Identical  with  this  one,  which  belongs  to  the 
prisoner!"  he  said — almost  excitedly. 

"Exactly.  The  same  colonial  French  make,  you 
see.  This  particular  one  belongs,  by  the  way,  to 
Miss  Brellier." 

"  M'isa  Brellier!  " 

Something  like  a  thrill  ran  through  the  crowded 
courtroom.  In  the  silence  that  followed  you  could 
have  heard  a  pin  drop. 

"That  is  correct.  She  will  tell  you  that  she  al 
ways  kept  it  in  an  unused  drawer  in  her  secretaire 
locked  away  with  some  papers.  She  had  not  looked 
at  it  for  months,  until  the  other  day  when  she 
happened  to  examine  one  of  those  papers,  and 


The  Solving  of  the  Riddle  277 

therefore  went  to  the  drawer  and  unlocked  it.  The 
revolver  lying  there  drew  her  attention.  Knowing 
that  it  was  the  same  as  the  one  owned  by  her  fiance, 
Sir  Xigel  Merriton,  and  figuring  so  largely  in  this 
case,  she  took  it  out  and  idly  examined  it.  One  of 
[.lie  bullets  was  missing!  This  rather  aroused  her 
curiosity,  and  when  I  questioned  her  afterward  about 
il,  when  the  inquest  was  over,  and  she  had  brought 
it  forward  and  shown  it  to  the  coroner,  who — 
quite  naturally — after  the  explanation  given  by  Mr. 
Brellier,  gave  it  back  to  her  as  having  no  dealings 
with  the  case,  she  told  me  that  she  could  not  abso 
lutely  recollect  her  uncle  telling  her  that  he  had  killed 
the  dog  with  it.  A  small  thing  but  rather  im 
portant." 

"And  you  say  that  this  man  Borkins  arranged  this 
revolver  so  as  to  point  to  the  prisoner's  guilt,  Mr. 
Cleek?"  asked  the  judge. 

''I  say  that  the  man  Dacre  Wynne  was  actually 
killed  with  that  identical  revolver  which  you  hold  in 
your  hand,  my  lord.  And  the  construction  I  put 
upon  it  is  this:  Borkins  hated  his  master,  but  the 
long  story  of  that  does  not  concern  us  here,  and  upon 
the  night  of  the  quarrel  he  was  listening  at  the  door, 
and,  hearing  how  things  were  shaping  themselves, 
began,  as  he  himself  has  told  you  in  his  evidence,  to 
think  that  there  would  soon  be  trouble  between  Sir 
Nigel  and  Mr.  Wynne,  if  things  went  on  as  they  had 
been  going.  Therefore,  when  he  was  told  that  Mr. 


278         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

Wynne  had  gone  out  across  the  Fens  in  a  drunken 
rage,  to  investigate  the  meaning  of  the  Frozen 
Flames,  the  idea  entered  Borkins's  mind.  lie  knew 
his  master's  revolver,  had  seen  it  slipped  under  his 
pillow  more  often  than  not  of  an  evening  when  Sir 
Nigel  went  to  bed.  Here  Borkins  saw  his  life's 
opportunity  of  getting  even.  He  knew,  too,  of  Miss 
Brellier's  revolver — must  have  known,  else  why  should 
this  particular  instrument  be  used  upon  this  particu 
lar  night,  in  place  of  the  usual  type  of  revolver  which 
Brellier's  guards  carried,  and  by  which  poor  Collins 
undoubtedly  met  his  death?  So  we  will  take  it  that 
he  knew  of  this  little  instrument  here,  and  upon 
hearing  of  Wynne's  proposed  investigations,  he 
dashed  to  the  back  kitchen  of  the  Towers — which 
was  rarely  used  by  the  other  servants,  as  being,  so 
one  of  them  told  me,  'so  dark  and  damp  that  it 
fair  gave  'em  the  creeps.'  Therefore  Borkins  had 
his  way  unmolested,  and  it  did  not  lake  him  long. 
knowing  the  turnings  of  the  underground  passage 
as  he  did  from  constant  use — to  communicate  with 
Withersby  Hall.  To  which  guard  lie  told  his  tale  1 
do  not  know,  but,  since  we  have  taken  the  whole 
crowd — we'll  find  out  later.  Anyway,  he  must  have 
told  someone  else  of  his  desire  for  private  vengeance. 
And  the  thing  worked.  When  poor  Wynne  met  his 
death,  it  was  at  the  point  of  a  pistol  which  had  lain 
unused  in  the  secretaire  at  Withersby  Hall  for  some 
little  time.  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  the  actual 


The  Solving  of  the  Riddle  279 

spot  where  the  body  of  Wynne  and,  later  on,  that  of 
Collins  was  first  concealed,  but  I  have  no  doubt  that 
they  were  brought  from  that  spot  to  be  discovered  by 
i is.  It  was  very  necessary  for  the  body  of  Wynne  to 
he  discovered,  since  the  bullet  in  his  brain  was 
fired  from  Miss  Brellier's  revolver.  It  was  all 
part  of  the  plot  against  Sir  Nigel.  How  bitter  was 
that  plot,  is  evidenced  by  the  removal  of  the  bodies  to 
the  place  they  were  discovered  on  the  Fens — no  very 
pleasant  job  for  any  man." 

("leek  whirled  suddenly  upon  Borkins,  who  stood 
with  bent  head  and  pallid  face,  biting  his  lips  and 
twisting  his  hands  together,  while  Cleek's  voice 
broke  the  perfect  silence  of  the  court.  But  thus 
taken  by  surprise,  he  lifted  his  head,  and  his  mouth 
opened. 

The  judge  raised  his  hand. 

"Is  this  true,  my  man?''  he  demanded. 

Borkins's  face  went  an  ugly  purplish-red.  For  a 
moment  it  looked  as  though  he  were  going  to  have  an 
apoplectic  fit. 

"  Yes — damn  you  all — yes ! "  he  replied  venomously. 
"That's  how  I  did  it — though  Gawd  alone  knows 
how  he  come  to  find  it  out!  But  the  game's  up  now, 
and  it's  no  more  use  a-lyin'." 

"Never  a  truer  word  spoken,"  returned  Cleek,  with 
a  little  triumphant  smile.  "I  must  admit,  your 
Lordship,  that  upon  that  one  point  I  was  a  little 
shaky.  Borkins  has  irrefutably  proved  that  my 


280         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

theory  was  correct.  I  must  say  I  am  indebted  to 
him."  Again  the  little  smile  looped  up  one  corner  of 
his  face.  "And  I  have  but  just  a  little  bit  more  of 
the  tale  to  tell,  and  then — I  must  leave  the  rest  of 
it  in  your  infinitely  more  capable  hands. 

The  reason  why  I  mistrusted  the  story 
of  the  revolver?  Why,  upon  examination,  that  in 
strument  belonging  to  Miss  Brellier  was  a  little  too 
clean  and  well-oiled  to  have  been  out  of  use  for  a  mat 
ter  of  five  months  or  so.  The  worthy  user  of  it  had 
cleaned  and  polished  it  up,  so  as  to  be  sure  of  its  ac 
tion,  and  re-oiled  it.  So  the  'dog  story'  was  exploded 
almost  at  its  birth.  The  rest  was  easy  to  follow  up. 
and  knowing  the  position  of  things  between  Borkins 
and  his  master  (from  both  sides,  so  to  speak),  I  began 
to  put  two  and  two  together.  Borkins  lias,  this  mo 
ment,  most  agreeably  told  me  that  my  answer  to  the 
sum  is  correct.  But  things  worked  in  well  for  him.  I 
must  say.  That  Sir  Nigel  should  actually  fire  a  shot 
upon  that  very  night  was  a  stroke  of  pure  luck  for  the 
servant  who  hated  him.  And  it  made  his  chance  of 
fabricating  the  whole  plot  against  Sir  Nigel  a  good 
deal  easier.  Whether  he  would  have  stolen  the 
revolver  had  that  shot  at  the  Frozen  Flames —  —for 
which  Sir  Nigel  has  been  so  sorely  tried — never  been 
fired,  I  cannot  say,  but  that  doubtless  would  have 
been  the  course  he  would  have  taken.  Luck 
favoured  him  upon  that  dreadful  night — but  now  that 
luck  has  changed.  His  own  action  has  been  his 


The  Solving  of  the  Riddle  281 

undoing.  If  he  had  not  given  vent  to  this  feeling  of 
hatred  that  he  cherished  in  his  heart  for  a  master 
who  was  of  such  different  stuff  of  which  he  himself 
was  made,  the  whole  infernal  plot  might  never 
have  been  revealed.  And  yet,  -who  can  tell? 

"My  lord  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  the  tale  is 
told.  Justice  has  been  done  an  innocent  man,  and 
the  rest  of  its  doing  lies  in  your  capable  hands.  I 
ask  your  permission  to  be  seated." 

His  voice  trailed  off  into  silence,  and  across  the 
court  a  murmur  arose,  like  the  hum  of  some  giant 
airplane  growing  gradually  nearer  and  nearer.  A 
sorl  of  strangled  sob  came  from  the  back  of  Cleek's 
chair,  and  he  turned  his  head  to  smile  into  'Toinette's 
wet  eyes.  In  their  depths  gratitude  and  sorrow  were 
inexplicably  mingled.  His  hand  went  out  to  her;  she 
ran  toward  him  from  her  place,  and  in  spite  of  judge 
and  jury,  in  spite  of  the  order  of  the  law,  knelt  down 
there  at  his  side  and  pressed  her  warm  lips  against 
his  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

TOWARD  MORNING.     .     .     ." 

flower  in  Cleek's  buttonhole  was  jauntily 
erect,  his  immaculately  garbed  figure  fitted 
in  perfectly  with  every  detail  of  the  whole 
scene  of  which  he  was  a  part.  He  looked — and  was — 
the  exquisitely  turned-out  man-about-lown.  Only 
his  eyes  told  of  other  things,  and  they,  as  the  or 
gans  welled  to  the  sounds  of  the  wedding  march 
lighted  up  with  something  that  spoke  of  the  man 
within  rather  than  the  man  without.  He  turned 
from  his  position  al  the  altar  (where  he  was  ful 
filling  his  duties  as  best  man  to  Sir  Nigel  Merriton) 
and  glanced  back  over  the  curve  of  his  shoulder  1o 
where  a  girl  sat,  bending  forward  in  the  empty  pe\v, 
her  face  alight,  her  eyes,  beneath  the  curving  iuit- 
brim,  swimming  with  tears.  .  .  .  She  nodded  as 
he  saw  her,  and  smiled,  the  promise  of  their  future 
together  curving  the  sweet  lips  into  gracious, 
womanly  lines.  Behind  her,  on  guard  as  usual,  and 
gay  in  a  gorgeous  garment  of  black-and-white 
checks,  white  waistcoat  and  flaming  scarlet  button 
hole,  sat  Dollops,  faithfully  watching  while  Cleek 
assisted  at  the  ceremony  that  was  uniting  two  souls 


"Toward  Morning     .     .     ."  283 

in  one,  and  casting  aside  forever  the  smirch  of  a  name 
thai  must  rankle  in  the  heart  of  her  who  had  owned 
it  in  common  with  the  man  who  had  so  nearly 
wrought  her  soul's  desolation. 

.  Then  it  was  all  over.  The  organ  swelled 
once  more  with  its  tidings  of  joy;  upon  her  husband's 
arm  'Toincite  passed  down  the  tiny  aisle,  tears  running 
down  her  cheeks  unchecked,  and  mingling  witli  the 
smiles  that  chased  each  other  like  sunbeams  across  her 
happy  face.  Cleek  was  at  the  porch  waiting  for  them 
as  they  came  out.  lie  reached  forth  a  hand  to  each. 

"Good  luck-  and  God  bless  you  both,"  he  said. 
"Tin's  is  a  fitting  end,  Merriton,  and  a  new  and 
glorious  beginning." 

"  And  every  moment  of  it,  every  second  of  it  we  owe 
to  you,  Mr.  Cleek,"  returned  Sir  Nigel,  in  a  deep, 
happy   voice.     "Time   alone  can   show  our  grati 
tude--!  can't." 

Cleek  bowed,  and  his  hand  went  out  suddenly  to 
Ailsa  Lome,  who  had  stolen  up  beside  him,  went  out 
and  caught  her  hand  and  held  it  in  a  grip  that  hurt. 
"  I  know,  boy.  And  one  day  in  the  glad  future  I  shall 
call  upon  you — who  knows? — to  attend  a  similar 
ceremony  on  my  behalf,  and  in  which  Mr.  Narkom 
here  has  promised  to  act  as  best  man — with  Dollops 
to  bolster  him  up  if  he  should  be  attacked  with 
nerves.  Now  be  off  with  you  and — be  happy. 
We'll  see  you  later  at  the  Towers,  Merriton.  Good 
bye  to  you  both." 


284         The  Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame 

The  door  closed,  the  engine  started,  Dollops  sprang 
back  and  they  were  off.  The  boy  turned  suddenly, 
looked  at  Cleek  and  Ailsa  standing  there  in  the  sun 
shine  of  the  little  porch,  at  Mr.  Narkom  chuckling 
quietly  behind  them,  and-  remarked: 

"Gawd!  Dunno  which  is  the  best — weddings  or 
funerals!  Strite  I  don't.  Yer  snivels  at  boi'e  like 
a  blinkin'  fool  wiv  a  cold  in  'is  'ead.  And  when  it 
comes  to  your  time,  Guv'nor!  well,  if  yer  don't  let  me 
myke  a  third  at  the  funnymoon,  I'll  commit  hurry - 
skurry  on  yer  wery  doorstep!  .  .  .  An'  jolly 
good  riddance  ter  bad  rubbish,  too!" 


THE    END 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,     GARDEN    CITY,  NEW    YORK 


000129661     5 


